The Perfect Life
by SosaLola
Summary: "One day I'll have money. Prestige. Power. And on that day they'll still have more," Xander in Reptile Boy. This fic was inspired by the novel Remember Me? written by Sophie Kinsella.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Perfect Life  
**Author:** Sosa Lola  
**Pairing:** Xander/Spike  
**Rating:** R  
**Setting:** Starts the day after S2 Reptile Boy  
**Summery:** "One day I'll have money. Prestige. Power. And on that day they'll still have more," Xander in Reptile Boy.  
**Notes:** This fic was inspired by the novel _Remember Me?_ written by _Sophie Kinsella._

Thanks to **ladymerlin**, **mulder200** and **feelsthemagic** for being my beta. And thanks to **moscow_watcher** for reading the beginning and inspiring the ending.

* * *

**Chapter One:**

When the need to sleep in class is irresistible, always sit in the back, specifically the corner. Never forget the best friend sitting in the next chair for warning purposes. And it won't hurt having a hand inside the desk, as if searching for something when getting caught. And most importantly, try never to fall into a deep sleep. Never.

If you do not follow these rules, expect to be subjected to the force of teacher wrath.

In my case, a book-slam.

_Slam!_

I jump, blinking at my desk, before raising confused eyes at Mr. Payne. The teacher's face clenches, creating yet more wrinkles, it's like watching a plastic wrap scrunching up. His hand clutches the hardcover book pressed against his chest, and I'm hit by sheer gladness that the book didn't smack my head when slamming the desk.

"I'll see you in detention." Mr. Payne's eyes sparkle with a joy that his hard expression can't hide.

I can hear the snickers and whispers around me. A reminder of a recent event a thousand times more humiliating.

I shove the memories in the farthest place back in my head and grab my bag at the sound of the school bell. I hear the students around me chuckling and I can't help but get paranoid. Are they laughing at me? Do they know? Has it already spread around? And who did the spreading? Did the spreader take pictures? Are they up on the net now?

I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, and heading straight to the library. Nothing like a good monster of the week research with the gang to take my mind off the latest humiliation.

I bump into Cordelia's shoulder on my way. Her glare quickly dissolves into a mischievous smile. "Have you heard, girls?" she says, addressing the gaggle of air-heads behind her.

Shit. She knows. I try to move away when I feel Cordelia's hand grabbing my wrist tightly. "Larry's brother went to the party yesterday."

She's eying me with that look. Her friends have mustered the look as well. And my mouth spits out words unwisely, "Gee, Cordy, was his fugliness smitten by the trash whore outfit?" I say my bit, freeing my arm hastily and starting to walk away. Don't look back, keep walking to the library, hide behind Buffy… eh, sit next to Buffy. Get on with the research. I'm not seeing Cordelia anywhere. Going down the hall, straight to 'library, sweet library.'

"Apparently, Xander has a fondness of cross-dressing in fraternity houses."

I spin around in spite of myself as she and her groupies burst into derisive cackles. I'm working my defenses, searching for suitable insults, but as their mouths open wider and their laughs grow into bobcat shrieks, I bow my head and retreat.

Cordelia's cackle snaps in my ear, almost popping my eardrums. I suddenly remember that she was tricked by Frat Boy, drugged, and almost sacrificed. I turn around to throw a sharp remark, but they're already gone.

"Hey, Harris!"

An unmanly moan escapes my mouth - great, one more reason for Larry and the Larryettes to hand me a nice new pummel. I plaster a scornful smile on my lips and face them. Their smirks bring a sour taste to my mouth.

"Lookie here, it's Psycho Miko and his gang." If I'm going down, then I'm doing it with dignity.

Larry tucks on his ridiculous red bandana, and I feel the urge to call Buffy for fashion-victim puns. "I hear you've started pursuing your life dream job as a belly dancer," Larry says, beefy arms crossed on his wide chest. His ass-kisser followers imitate him at once.

Larry's eyes travel down my body with a disdainful leer. "A giant bra," he says in a hoarse voice, gazing at my chest. "And a skirt." His eyes drift down to my jeans, and I force my hands to remain by my sides.

"Shame on you, Harris, showing those talents to strangers. What? Your high school buds aren't good enough anymore?"

My lips are pressed in a thin line. Sarcastic comebacks are dying in my mouth and all I'm wishing for is for this moment to be over. Maybe I'll let Buffy hold a vampire for me tonight. My hands are already fisting.

I freeze when Larry grabs my neck and pulls my face directly to his armpit. I smell his deodorant and thank God that they caught me before they hit the field.

"You know," Larry says to my head, "we've got a beads filled bra and a hip belt from a costume shop just for you."

"That's it!" I push myself out of his grip, and glare daggers at his smug face. "For a guy who's straight, Larry, you sure do know a lot about women's fashion. Something you want to tell us?"

Larry's nostrils flare all of a sudden; my comment must have brought out the homophobic side of him. "Get the _girl_," he grits out.

I try to run away, but unfortunately, they're athletic sports dudes, and I'm just a lazy never-gets-picked bench guy. So I find myself flailing in the air as they lift me over their heads and walk after Larry. I'm tempted to close my eyes and imagine myself as a famous rock star who threw himself into the crowd, but I can't after hearing Larry order, "Make him feel comfortable," followed by a few ass-pinches.

Students on my left and right point at me and snicker, like I haven't had my fair share of that in the past twenty four hours!

"Put me down!" I yell, kicking a head, then kicking it again, knowing I'll pay for it later. Then I revert to hair pulling; the guy's hair on my left is appallingly greasy, and the one on my right doesn't have enough hair to pull on.

We suddenly stop; I raise my head up to get a good look at what's stopping them. My heart skips a beat with happiness. Buffy, my knight with shiny hair, is looking Larry down, arms folded, sporting a resolved face. "Catching up with your inner hoodlum, Larry?" Bandana pun! "Put him down or I'll gut you where you stand."

"Ooh, I'm scared," Larry says sarcastically. He stands right in front of Buffy, his hand slightly hovering over her hip, seductive body language intact. "Say, how about a show of your own? You're the loser's friend, right? Bet he taught you some danse du ventre."

Buffy punches him in the nose. I cheer her on with a holler and a happy fist in the air, getting over the shocking fact of Larry speaking French. And fluently.

Larry touches his bleeding nose, shocked. "You little bitch." He leaps at her, but she twists his arm and slams him against the balcony. His feet are off the floor and his whole upper body is dangling down the other side of the balcony; if it isn't for Buffy's grip on his shirt, he'll be toast.

"No, no, no, no." Larry's legs wave frantically. "Don't throw me off. Please. I take it back."

Buffy pulls him back, hurling him to the floor.

Terrified, Larry's lackeys take a step backwards, and when Buffy casts them her death glare, they toss me aside and flee. Well, 'flee' is the action I'm hoping for, and obviously wanting to see. It's time I get to do the snickering, but unfortunately, I don't know what happened after the tossing-me part.

All I know is feeling alarmed at the sight of the stairs, getting closer and closer. Pain explodes in my head and shoulder, and I feel myself tumbling down the stairs, hard and clunky.

I slip into darkness before I reach the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

Shit, my head hurts. It's banging harder than the Cro-Mags, except without the sheer joy of their hardcore punk music. God, did I get demon-smacked or something? Or did Dad score for the first time, and this is what a beer bottle striking the head feels like?

I try to turn my head a little. Bad move. The bangs grew sharper and I think I'm passing out.

* * *

Drum. Bang. Drum. Bang.

Man, I hope Buffy slayed the demon. I've never had a headache this intense.

Don't turn over. Don't repeat that mistake. I can hear the pounding of my heart piercingly inside my head, and there's racing. Cartoon birds are racing over my head.

Stop it. I demand you. I'm looking you in the eye. I'm…

Passing out again.

* * *

This headache is one stubborn disease. Don't you have someone else's head to torture? How much time has it passed since I was out? Did Buffy take me to the hospital?

That demon must have pounded me good, because not only does my head hurt, but my whole body is throbbing like a bad version of the _Lion King_'s jungle beat. My chest feels like it's on fire, and I can't feel my left arm. Is this a heart attack? Paranoia pounds into me more painfully than the excruciating pain in my head.

What if I'm lying alone in the cemetery? An easy target for any stray, slimy, gurgling demon. My heart jumps as I hear a sloshing sound mixed with a low growl getting closer, and for a second there, I can smell its stench. I instinctively try to run; small, unnoticeable movements are met with jamming and slamming. Son of a bitch, my head is having its own frat party at the expense of my sanity.

Okay, let's calm down here. First, the material underneath me isn't anything like grass, and the material covering my body feels like a blanket. Second, there's no disgusting odor reeking on the top of my head. I'm home. I'm sure. Mom did throw out that cheap perfume a couple of days ago. Maybe she was so wasted she slipped some of her drink in my dinner. This is what a hangover feels like. I mean, I'm an alcohol virgin –not counting that one time I tried to get a taste of Mom's Cape Cod, but got caught and mocked by Dad, 'cause the drink was too pink, and I'm a man. He made me take a sip of his rum and coke, which I falsely thought would be great because of the coke part, but I ended up gagging before it went down my throat.

Wow, who would've thought that too many thoughts make headaches sharper? It's like Larry is punching the inside of my head at my temples and behind my eyes.

_Larry._

Yes, yes, today at school. The jerk-hats pissed their pants at the sight of the Buffster and dropped me like a useless rug. I ended up falling down the stairs. That's what's wrong with me. The lousy rock & roll is the result of my head banging against the stairs, one stair after the other. And there were so many of them!

I want to open my eyes, but even the thought of that hurts. So, I force my hand to make a fist, and I wish I didn't. Because the second my fingers twitched, a mighty shriek sounded. Like Ozzy Osbourne attempting to hit high notes. I start to panic, my fist unfolding in haste. As my ears start to ring, I wonder if I can pass out again.

The horrible sound stops.

I stay stiff for about three seconds, and then I pull my eyes open, and a fog greets me.

It gradually clears, until I'm face to face with a beautiful woman. It's like the scene in _The Little Mermaid_ – which I've been forced to watch, thank you very much - when the prince wakes up after Ariel saves him. Except my mermaid is blonde and has brown eyes and isn't a cartoon.

Suddenly, her eyes widen and her mouth opens, releasing the same bloodcurdling shriek.

"Stop it," I say with a wince.

"Xander, you're awake."

"You know my name?"

"Of course I do. And you know my name, too."

"Ariel?" I venture.

She blinks at me, then turns to the nurse I just notice standing next to me on the other side. "What did you do to him?" she accuses, her expression frantic and scary.

The nurse stares at her in confusion. "What?"

"He called me Ariel."

"That's not your name?"

"Urgh, I want Anna! She's been the nurse for the past five days, and now she conveniently chooses today as her day off. Medical staff shouldn't be allowed days off. You'd think I'd listen to Giles and close the Magic Box on Sunday?"

My head spins a little as I don't follow what they're saying. Larry sent me to the hospital, that's what I can follow. That jackass, hopefully Buffy pounded him to unconsciousness as well.

"Go get me a doctor or someone who understands!"

I glance uncomfortably at the poor nurse dashing towards the hell exit. Then my heart beats faster when I realize I'm stuck with Scary Woman. I look warily at her as she examines me with narrowed eyes. Suddenly, fire flashes out from her eyes, and I shrink with fear.

"Is this an attempt to get out of the wedding?"

"Wedding?" I squeak.

The doctor walks in with his white coat fluttering behind him like angel wings – the power of good quality air conditioning. He reveals his shiny teeth with a trademark smile, and suddenly I feel safe. "Hello, Xander, I'm Dr. Norman. I'm a resident neurologist." He gestures at the nurse next to him, who's casting careful looks at Scary Woman. "This is Julie, a specialist nurse."

I nod at both of them. Don't leave me!

"All right," Dr. Norman says, looking into his chart. "How are we doing, Xander?"

"I've got confusion, a touch of paranoia, and a dash of terror." I glance at the blonde. She appears confused by my words, if a little hurt.

Dr. Norman follows my stare. "Ah, Anya, nice to see you again. I told you, you'll be the first face he'll see." He winks at me. "She never left your side. You're a lucky man."

I look at her, uncertain. "Anya?"

"Yes, Anya," she says, exasperated. "Not freaking Ariel. They're not even remotely similar names, except for the initial capital A. Still, they're phonetically unrelated and are not of demographic classifications." She crosses her arms with a huff.

"Sorry… about the mix up. Anya," I pronounce the name with emphasis, trying to see if it brings up memories, but no, I don't remember this woman. I chew my lip. "Um, uh, who are you exactly?"

Her eyes are as wide as those of Japanese anime characters and I resist the urge to hide under the covers. "Who am I?" she roars.

Dr. Norman frowns. "Isn't she your girlfriend?"

My mouth hangs open. "My… my girl… I've got a girlfriend?"

Anya slaps my shoulder. "You SO do!"

"Ouch! Sick here!" I remind my supposed girlfriend with a glare. Girlfriend. I look her up and down. She looks older than me, definitely not a high school student. "Wait. Is it my turn to date a college girl? You're not a Delta Zeta Kappa by any chance, are you?"

"Is that a reference from your various comic book collections?"

She knows about my comic books. And we're still dating. I found 'the one'! Now wait, you're too young to be saying that. What next? You're going to marry her based on her acceptance of your comic book obsession? Jeez.

"Xander?" Dr. Norman says suspiciously.

I can't take my eyes off my living, breathing, really existing girlfriend. "Yes?"

"Do you know who this woman is?"

I roll my eyes. "C'mon, Doc, you've got a P.H.D."

Dr. Norman almost sits on my bed, but decides against it, seeing as I need all the space to be comfortable. "So, you're saying you don't know who Anya is?"

"I don't."

Anya smacks my arm.

"Ow! Don't slap me." I rub the sting with a glare. "I'm already in too much pain right now. My head is riding a Six Flags roller-coaster at the moment."

Anya stands up, fists on hips, glowering at me. "Why are you pretending not to know me?"

It's the first time I get a glimpse of her body. I lose myself at the sight of her round hips, narrow waste, and then my brain stops working when my gaze hits her boobs. Those boobs are mine. I can have squishy boob-y hugs! And more dirty stuff once we get to second base.

Fingers snap in front of my eyes.

I recoil, and then look up at her, her face about to explode. My girlfriend is moody. I have a girlfriend!

Nurse Julie was silent through all of that, except for the occasional giggles at our couple's quarrel. "What's the last thing you remember, Xander?" she asks all of a sudden.

"The last thing I remember is obviously in that chart."

Dr. Norman nodded. "You tripped and fell down the stairs."

I feel Anya pinching me, but the knife-like pinch is nothing compared to the anger blasting inside me. "Tripped?" I repeat indecorously. Typical. Jocks always get alibis. "I didn't trip. Some students pushed me down the stairs."

Anya pinches me again.

Dr. Norman flips back two pages in his chart. "It says here that you tripped." He frowns at me. "Students? Where did you meet school students at night?"

Anya pinches.

"Night? No, it was morning." I finally cover my arm protectively and scream at Anya, "Stop doing that! What the hell is wrong with you?"

She stares at me, speechless. It's such a pleasure to see her scared face for the first time. I turn my attention to Dr. Norman. "I was at school. Sunnydale High?"

Silence overtakes the room. Everybody is staring at me like I said something retarded. I look between their stunned expressions and an overwhelming feeling creeps inside me. "What?"

"You were at the abandoned school and saw some students there?" Julie asks carefully.

"Abandoned?" I feel something tightening in my chest. "How many days passed since I was out?"

"Five days, sweetie," Anya says, running a comforting hand over my arm. I relax to her touch only to tense again when I look at her worried face. _Who_ is this woman?

"How can a high school be abandoned in five days?" I ask, returning my gaze to Julie. Her furrowed eyebrows make my heart sink.

"Xander," Dr. Norman says slowly as if he's afraid he's going to break me. "Sunnydale High exploded two years ago."

"What?" I exclaim, jerking Anya's hand away. "That's impossible."

"Yeah, it happened during a graduation ceremony," Julie says.

"But, two years? How can that be? I was there five days ago, according to you. I was out cold for five days, and five days ago I was studying there. I was a student there. How…" I cut my panicked babble and a chuckle bursts out of my mouth as realization hits me. "Is this some sort of prank? Did my friends put you up to this?" I tilt my head to peer at the door around Julie's body. "I figured it out, guys. Gotta say, your _Candid Camera_ is really impressive."

Dr. Norman examines me silently before he asks, "Can you tell me what year this is, Xander?"

I turn my attention to him, confused. "Year?"

"Yes."

I nibble on my lip, scared to answer. I'm already anticipating that this is going to turn out badly. "It's 1997."

Anya jerks up with a gasp. "Oh, no! You broke his brain." Her eyes shoot daggers at the doctor. "Fix him. Right now."

Dr. Norman ignores her, not breaking the eye contact with me. "Actually, it's 2001."

I feel my eyebrows climb up over my forehead and halfway into my hair. I glance at the door again. "Guys, this is not funny anymore," I call, waiting for a blonde head to pop out with a mischievous Buffy face.

"It's the truth," Dr. Norman says gently.

I shake my head. "No, this is a joke. A mean-spirited, unfunny joke. It's 1997." I look around the room, as if searching for anything that proves that I'm in the future, but everything looks 1997-y. I look hard at the window, I spot no flying cars. Yep, it's still 1997.

Julie comes inside the room with a newspaper in her hand. I didn't notice her leaving. She approaches my bed and points at the dateline at the top of the _Sunnydale Press_. "This is today's paper."

I feel numb all of a sudden when my eyes catch the date: Aug 10 2001. No, this is a prank. Willow can do that; she knows her way around computers. Buffy and Willow want to mess with me; they printed a whole newspaper just to do that. Very impressive, considering that this is their first prank ever. We never really do pranks. There isn't time for that what with spending our days in classes or researching and our nights patrolling or watching foreign movies.

"Xander?" Anya's hand brushes tenderly against my shoulder. I look into her brown eyes filled with love, concern, fear – all for me. She has true caring feelings for me. And it's… making me feel nothing. If "nothing" means weird and uncomfortable, 'cause that's what I'm feeling right now.

"So, uh, what you're saying is…" I swallow heavily, unable to look at them. "I… I missed the millennium?"

Anya pats my shoulder. "Don't worry, sweetie. The CD is still there on the top shelf."

I look at her, bewildered. "What CD?"

"This is a rare case," Dr. Norman whispers to Nurse Julie, his cool doctor façade wearing off swiftly. Not comforting. He tries to appear confident when he faces me. "We're gonna run some tests. I'm sure it's a temporary condition. Your head wasn't hit very hard."

Tell that to the razor-sharp headache.

"We'll leave you to rest now." He smiles at Anya, then paces to the door, Julie scurrying behind him.

"Don't worry." Anya smiles reassuringly at me. "Like he said, it's temporary. Soon enough, we'll be back to our place."

"Uh…our place?"

"Yeah, the apartment. Well, technically it's your place. I'm still on the fence if I should give up mine. I know I will eventually, I mean, I'm almost always at your apartment. But I've always thought that we could keep mine for emergency calls, just in case. It's not like I pay rent for it. It's all mine."

My mouth opens and closes like a fish throughout her babble. "I –I have an apartment?"

"Yep. A lovely apartment with a wide space and a great balcony view."

My apartment has a balcony? "How…"

"It happened when you got that big raise as well as the promotion…"

"Big raise? Promotion?" I interrupt urgently. "I have a job?"

"Sure you do, sweetie. You're the head of your own crew in the construction company."

"I'm the what?"

"You get to boss people around."

"Wow…" That's so much to take in. How the hell did all these good things happen to me? A beautiful girlfriend staying by my side since the accident, who apparently has moved in with me to my huge, balcony-installed apartment, which I got from a real job where I'm someone else's boss.

Only four years and I got myself the best future I can ever imagine. I'm what? Twenty? Most twenty year olds are simmering around, partying 'til dawn, still figuring out what to do with the rest of their lives. Me? I'm all settled in. I've got the perfect life a thirty year old is still working their butt off to get half of.

A true smile curls up my lips, and I lift my gaze to Anya, feeling my eyes twinkling. "I've got it all, huh?"

Anya grins, enthusiastic.

"Cool." I bounce a little, which was a bad move; my head isn't sober enough for sudden happy wiggles. Anya notices my distress and plumps my pillows and coaxes me to lie down. I give her a smile of appreciation before I narrow my eyes at her. "Do you by any chance have my high school yearbook? I need to contact all the people in there."

* * *

2001. This is _2001_. I just can't wrap my mind around it. I've got a bunch of newspapers and medical magazines, flipping through them the entire time. George Bush is president now, and he announced his limited support for federal funding of research on embryonic stem cells. Yeah, not that interesting, but it happened in 2001, and I don't remember it.

I toss the loads of newspapers aside and flop back on my pillows. Where are my friends? Didn't they get the memo about me being awake? Did we grow apart after high school? My heart is pounding fast enough to drive nails at that thought. I can't believe I didn't ask Anya about them. I guess I was too relieved to see her gone. I needed time alone –now I don't. I want my friends. Hell, I even want to see my parents. I want to see people I know. I want to make sure this whole thing is real.

"Xander?"

My head snaps towards the door.

Willow and Giles are standing in my room. I feel the unbound strain of relief winding through my body and I can't help the wide grin from spreading across my face. I almost throw myself at them, regardless of the pain. "Will, oh God, you're here!"

She comes to my side instantly, wrapping her arms around me. I hold on to her, not wanting to let go.

Giles pats my shoulder and I cast him a happy smile, not surprised to see that he's aged a little, even though it's a tad distracting. I notice he's not wearing glasses, and he's uncharacteristically dressed in flannel and sweat pants.

When I gently push Willow away from my embrace, I'm taken aback by her short hair. Last summer, she was so petrified when she trimmed it I thought she'd never get a haircut for the rest of her life. Now it's shoulder length, so not Willow. At least, it's straight. I don't think I'll be able to handle a curly-haired Willow. She's wearing a tight serious-looking shirt and a pair of tight dark jeans. Willow, whose closet is filled with nothing but funny skirts and overalls, is wearing dark jeans? My girl has grown up.

I glance at the door expectantly, but see no one. "Buffy didn't come with you?"

They cast each other uncomfortable fleeting looks.

"What? Something wrong with Buffy?"

Willow looks away, her lip quivering. Panic rising inside me, I turn my gaze to Giles; his shoulders heave as he sighs deeply.

"Buffy… has passed away."

I feel something like a heavy lead ball form in my stomach. "Passed away? No, I performed CPR on her. She was only gone for minutes."

"That was five years ago," Giles reminds me gently. Shit, yeah, future-amnesia. "She passed away a couple of months ago."

Blood suffuses the skin of my face and throat, and my pulse is throbbing at my neck. My gaze lowers to the white sheets I'm almost ripping. "How? Why…"

"There was nothing we could've done. Buffy sacrificed herself to save the world."

That makes sense. Buffy would do that. She's a hero. What doesn't make sense is not seeing her ever again. Heart thudding in my throat, I recall Buffy's obsession with her hair, her mini-skirts, her puns, her perfume, complaining about slaying, complaining about a history quiz, complaining about Giles keeping her at a tight schedule. It's over. Everything. Never again. I don't even know what twenty year old Buffy is like. She's gone before I got to see the older version.

She's gone.

I feel a tender touch on my shoulder. "Xander?" Concern and sorrow are warring together in Willow's green eyes.

My throat closes over any response I can make. I feel my bottom lip beginning to twitch, and bite on it.

"We, uh, talked to the doctor," Giles says. "They're trying to make sense of the situation."

Willow's eyes are glistening at the edges; a sob breaks out of her mouth the second my lips tremble despite my teeth biting on them. I bite harder, feeling the small cut, waiting for the taste of blood.

"Do you want to know how you've gotten here?"

I look at Giles, forgetting he's here, much less talking to me. Anguish flares briefly in his gaze when he catches my broken expression; he rubs his forehead, eyes closed. "Do you want to…?" he trails off, sadness overtakes him.

I try to answer, but the words don't even form well enough to get lodged in my throat. Instead, I give a shaky nod.

"You've been a-attacked by a Neothral demon. This… This type of demon usually lives in a hell dimension, but due to our own… bungling, we've exchanged another demon with this one by mistake."

Demon. I guessed it right before. It was a demon attack… and Buffy wasn't there when it happened. She couldn't slay the demon.

"Neothral demons are completely foreign in our world, so we needed help from the demon community to make sense of what their bite does to a human being. It appears that it carries an abnormal type of poison that produces permanent memory impairment. I'm not so sure how it works exactly, but the only way to cure the victim is taking another bite from the same demon. The second dose of the poison cancels the effects of the first…"

Giles's voice fades when he notices me staring right through him. He places a gentle hand on my shoulder, winning my attention. I swallow through the lump in my throat as I lock eyes with his warm ones. Giles never looked at me this way before. "The doctors diagnosed it as retrograde amnesia," he says softly. "It's the inability to remember events preceding the accident. However, they can clearly see fault in the definition, seeing as you do remember events before 1997. They asked us if they can run more tests; try to figure out what's the problem."

"We were able to convince them to let you out," Willow says in hushed tones. "They'll discharge you tomorrow."

I nod again, licking the cut on my lip, closing my eyes and letting the tears slip. I catch my breath again, feeling the air burning in my lungs. I look at Willow's tearful face. "So, she's…" I can't bring myself to say it out loud.

"Yeah." She sniffles softly.

My heart hurts. It hurts so bad. "I already miss her."

"Wait until it's two months."

* * *

"What do you think?" Anya asks.

I stare at myself in the mirror, drinking in every detail, every change. I filled out a lot; I'm as big as my father before the beer belly. I can easily feel my muscles flex when moving my arms, they're more visible now, manlier. I can take Larry in a fight, unless he turned out into a bigger man –another question for Willow later.

My hair is still wet from the shower Anya forced me to take early this morning. It's still short, but it's there. My cousin Tom started to lose his hair at nineteen, just like his dad. Hair loss is a genetic in the Harris clan; early baldness is so common that I've braced myself with major paranoia, counting the hairs in the shower. I had already pictured myself with a cap on my bald head in my mid-twenties. Fortunately, my hair is as thick as it was last year when it was longer. I guess it was, uh, six years ago, if we're going with statistics here. Guess Buffy finally convinced me to use her hair products, and I can't thank her for keeping my hair on my scalp.

I shut my eyes, fighting a sudden headache, almost slipping from the cane I'm leaning on. Anya catches me and steadies me, I hold the cane more firmly.

"Too much handsome for you?" she asks with a warm smile.

I gaze at my face, my features matured a little, but I look so worn out. The spark seems to have died. My face is so dull and random, different, ugly. It's not me.

"I wanna lie down," I say quietly.

Anya helps me to the bed.

"We should get some sleep, 'cause I have to wake up early tomorrow. I'm thinking of heading back to the apartment; I haven't been there since the accident. It's probably all dusty right now. I'll get it all cleaned up and then I'll be back here as soon..."

She suddenly stops babbling. "Aw, sweetie," she says sympathetically.

When I feel her fingers brushing my wet cheeks, I whimper low in my throat. Sniffles I tried to block are dropping like rocks. I lean into her touch, feeling her tender kiss on my temple, and then her other hand massaging my head. My heart throbs for the comfort, love, finally throbs for Anya.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

I stare with dread at the combination of mysterious nasties that I'm supposed to eat; that strange thing swimming in slimy hell along with its very mashed mashed-potato buddies and the various numbers of tiny beans. I've never been face to face with evil in food form, that's just too cruel; I can't fathom the thought of a chef this malicious.

"Can I exchange this for a bowl of fries?" I point at what appears to be a smudged strawberry cake. Somehow, the strawberry on top managed to get out unscathed from Hell Kitchen.

The nurse smiles knowingly. "Press on the button when you're finished."

I frown at her retreating back before gazing down at the tray. Even the skimmed milk looks suspicious. I lift my knife and hesitantly carve the alien. Holly chefs of doom, that's chicken?

A knock on the door interrupts the heaving in my chest. I see a cute brunette standing by the door loaded with two plastic bags. "Can I come in?" she says chirpily.

I nod at the tray. "Can you save me?" One glance at it and I almost vomit.

She makes a face. "Ew. I suspected that. That's why…" She approaches me and places one of the bags on my bed. She brings out a bundle of clothes and unwraps them. "… I snuck in this." She hefts an unfamiliar McDonald's paper bag invitingly. I can hear 'ta daaa' as I watch it glow in its perfection.

"Wow, 2001 paper bags rock." I push hell-tray away and dig into the bag like a hungry monkey; I pull out a paper wrapped burger. "Big Mac?" I ask with disappointment.

She has a sympathetic smile. "All new created burgers since 1997 didn't knock it out of your fave list. Sorry."

"Not a problem." I realize I'm not really that disappointed. I'm more glad, really. At least, one thing is familiar. I beam at her through a mouthful of cheese and meat. "You're officially my new hero."

She grins.

Speaking of familiar. "Who are you?"

She plays with her silky light brown hair, shyly gazing down at the floor. "Yeah, guess I did grow up a lot since the last time you saw me."

I blink. "And that was?"

"Um… I assume my house?"

I swallow my first big bite of my favorite burger, and then look her up and down. Tall, thin, shiny hair, blue eyes, shirt, jeans, and I have no idea who this girl is. Then it hits me that I must have known her somewhere between 1997 and today. Dread fills me when the hurt clouds her face, and suddenly I'm reminded of Anya's reaction to me not knowing her. What if this girl is related to her? Same genes, same painful slaps.

"Oh," I say with fake enthusiasm. "You… you were… wow, you've grown up!"

She grins again and spins. "What do you think?"

I give an impressed nod. "Years did you well, my friend."

She hops happily to my other side, takes the tray from the bed and places it on the bedside table, and then she sits next to me, the second bag on her lap now. "I've got some magazines. You need to catch up."

I wiggle in my bed, giddy. "Awesome. Obviously, my references are so outdated now."

She draws out a colorful magazine and places it on my lap. Teen Beat? I look at her with a raised eyebrow.

She ignores it and points at the pretty chick on the cover. "This is Britney Spears. Journalists' favorite topic. Her dance moves are to die for. She started out so cute and great, but her last year performance at the VMAs was so slutty I lost respect for her. I mean, all her videos from then on became so sexually based, especially her last video _Don't Let Me Be the Last to Know_."

I nod, trying to catch up.

She points at a picture of some boyband. "Those are N*Sync." She smiles with awe. "Aren't they adorable? Justin and Britney are, like, the hottest couple ever. I hear they're gonna do a duet in Britney's new album. It's gonna be so perf!"

I cast her a half-hearted smile, then point at a picture of another boyband. "And those guys…"

She snatches the magazine from my hand. "You don't need to bother with them."

I frown, then notice Willow coming in. "Hey, Dawn, I hope you're not torturing my oldest friend."

Dawn. Remember the name. Dawn.

Dawn gives me a side-hug. "Nope. Just keeping him posted on the new development in the music industry."

I glance at her uncomfortably, and then plead at Willow with my eyes. She gets it right away. "Uh, Dawnie, can you go and wait for Tara? She'll need someone to get her to the room."

"Okay." Dawn jumps off, spins around and points at me. "You and me, we'll talk pop culture later. We still got Shakira and No Doubt to cover."

I force a smile. "Can't wait."

With shiny hair bouncing, she hops outside the room. I release a relieved sigh.

Willow smiles understandingly. "Everything feels so weird, huh?"

"Very." I can't take my eyes off the door. "Who…"

"It's a long story." Willow takes a deep breath. "She's Buffy's sister."

"Buffy has a sister?" Shock doesn't cover how I really feel. Buffy had said she was an only child, she said nothing about step-sisters, nor that her father had remarried. "Since when?"

"Since some monks decided to protect the key from an evil, skanky god by molding it into human form last year."

I stare at Willow without a blink.

She rubs her forehead. "I'm becoming lousy at this. There's so much to fill you in on."

Obviously. Missing four years in the memories cell; so much must have happened, especially living the life we do. Dawn, though, is something I didn't expect. Buffy had magically gotten a sister, now that's too twisted. "I told her I remember her."

"Oh. Yeah, that's great, Xander." Willow looks stunned and relieved at the same time. "That's wonderful. It's good you told her that. Buffy's death hit her the hardest. I'm not sure how she'll handle you not remembering her. I'm guessing another wrist cutting."

"Wrist cutting?"

"She just… she doesn't catch a break, you know? Finding out she's not real, losing her mom, then Buffy. I can't…"

"Wait, wait… Joyce is dead?" I ask, dread washing all over me.

Willow bites her lower lip hard and then dangles her head sadly.

My mouth hangs open; this is too much. Anger rises inside me in waves, my fingers about to shred Dawn's magazine to pieces. "Who else is dead? My parents?"

Willow throws up her hands defensively. "They're still alive. Swear."

"Oh, _they_ get to be alive," I say cynically.

"No more deaths. Don't worry." Willow shakes her head so hard her red hair is flying everywhere.

"Miss Calendar?"

Willow inclines her head. "Okay, one more."

I throw the magazine away. "Oh. C'mon!"

"Hey." Anya steps into the room, putting an end to the dour conversation we're having. She sits next to me, holding my hand. "How are you feeling, honey?"

I'm still trying to adjust to the fact that I'm dating a superhot girlfriend, but after last night, I'm able to relax a little around Anya. She's been a great support to me, never leaving my side, trying to make me comfortable, albeit in an annoying way, but still; she manages to get the job done most of the time.

"Fine," I reply with a smile. She leans in for a kiss, and mechanically I draw back. I don't realize what I just did until I see the hurt in her eyes. What the hell is wrong with me? If a beautiful woman wants to kiss you, kiss her back; rule number one in the guy handbook. I've cherished this rule my whole life, applied it with Ampata. I should be devouring this non-dead, non-mummy girl by now, making Willow blush and rush out of the room, uncomfortable.

"Tara is here!" Dawn announces, breaking another dour moment to my relief; guess I should brace myself for the next dour moments. I know for a fact there will be plenty of those in the future.

I grin at the blonde woman behind Dawn. "Hey there, new Scooby member?"

She grins. "Got the membership for a year and a half now."

"Cool. How did we find you?"

"Um, Xander, Tara is… she is…" Willow appears uncomfortable for some reason. "She's my girlfriend."

"I know, Will. I'm not that dumb. She's the gal pal of us all."

"No, what I meant is…"

Anya covers Dawn's ears. "She means she and Tara have orgasmic, mind-altering, gay sex. Together. They become one. Using fingers."

"Anya!" Willow and Tara chime in union.

Dawn jerks Anya's hands away. "I know all about Willow and Tara sleeping together."

My gaze locks on Willow, unable to look away. "You... you're..." I'm not sure what to say. I'm too shocked to form words.

"Gay," Willow says softly.

"Gay?" The words sound so foreign coming out of my mouth and they sound even more outlandish when directed at Willow. "You do gay things with her?" I nod my head, a little superficially, at Tara.

"Yes."

"Wow." It's like my world shifts a little. I look down at my hands; my knuckles are turning white from squeezing the material covering my body. "When did that happen?" I notice that she's solemnly let down by my reaction. It's a big shock. I'd like to think I'm as open-minded as the next person, but I've known Willow my whole life and she's always been… one of the guys.

Oh.

"First year of college."

"Ah, so you did that whole experimenting thing. And it's working out great. Right?"

"Yeah." She glances at Tara with a smile. Tara returns her smile with a warm one.

"Wow," stop saying wow, "oh, so that's why you never dated in high school."

Willow shifts indignantly. "I did date. I dated Oz."

"Who?"

"You know, Oz; the lead guitarist in _Dingoes Ate my Baby_."

I know those guys. They don't know any actual chords yet, but they have really big amps. Their name brings a lot of bad memories, though. Mom used to bring up the story of the baby killed by a dingo every time I mentioned camping; she hates spending money on anything but booze.

Anyway, Willow dated a guy in a band. Unexpected, but really cool. "Is he the guy who shows off his belly?"

"No, he's the shorter guy."

"Ah, the one who changes his hair color in a snap."

"Yep."

I nod my head, impressed. "Great, Will. Not that it matters now." I cast an uncomfortable glance at Tara. She says nothing, but ducks her head, not meeting my eyes.

I look away, and then grin as a question pops in my head. I wiggle with excitement, looking at Willow. "Now tell me, did I date anyone in high school?"

"Cordelia," Dawn blurts out.

I gag, and then cough, gesturing for a glass of water. Anya brings one in a flash. I gulp it in, and then try to keep my breathing steady. I glare at Dawn shortly afterward. "That was mean."

"But true." Her eyes sparkle with mischief.

There's no way. Barf. Cordelia? I'm sure it was a spell, some demon-y thing, a Hellmouth curse. There's no way I'd be dating Cordelia, the thought of kissing… don't go there! "I'm sure that didn't last for so long."

"Yeah," Willow says, lowering her head in shame. I notice Anya glaring at her.

"Where is she now? Did we lose touch after high school?"

"She works for Angel at his investigation agency," Willow answers.

My world is officially skewed. "Angel has a what?"

"Wesley works there, too."

"Who?"

"Oh, right." Willow chuckles. "Guess you don't know Faith either."

I shake my head.

"Well, good for you. I'd pay thousands to forget her, but then I don't have them."

"Stop chit-chatting," Anya chides. "They're probably charging us for the second." She sits next to me again, and rests her hand on my shoulder. "I've got the apartment all heaven-like for you, sweetie."

"Oh, Anya, I figured…" Willow starts nervously, looking like she's choosing her words carefully, "it's better if Xander came with us, you know?"

Anya throws her a fierce look. "He should be home."

"I know, but… he only knows me." Off my look, she adds, "and Dawn. I think it's better if he…"

Anya jumps to her feet, hands on hips. "You're liking this so much, aren't you?"

Willow blinks. "What?"

"The fact that he knows you, and not me."

Willow shakes her head. "I don't…"

"It's fine, Will," I interrupt before it gets ugly. "I'll go with Anya."

"Xander, you don't have to if it's…"

"I want to." I smile at Anya, her brown eyes shocked at what I said. My stupid withdrawal from her kiss earlier probably made her somewhat vulnerable. I touch her soft hand, my smile grows bigger. "I want to go home."

I feel satisfied when her lips curl up in a satisfied grin.

* * *

Okay, so I knew I'm living in an apartment of my own now. But, I've built a picture in my head for a one room slash kitchenette with a single bed and a small bathroom. _This_ is nothing like I pictured, even though what Anya had told me earlier about my apartment did contradict what I've imagined, perhaps what she said was too good to be true. But it _is_ true. I'm looking at a large living room with nice-looking furniture, couches pointing to a TV with a neat framed picture on the wall behind it. There's a wide window with a glass door leading to my balcony. A familiar looking red recliner is positioned next to that cool lamp.

"Hey, that's my dad's chair! How did I…?" I stop abruptly. "Did I inherit it? No, Willow said my parents are still alive and kicking." My shoulders slump a bit.

"We took it from the basement." Anya holds my arm and leans her head on my shoulder. "So, what do you think?"

"Hubba hubba." I grin at her, then unlock myself from her hold and gaze some more at my apartment.

I touch the green, flowery fabric covering my dining table, loving how neatly the salt and pepper shakers are placed in the middle. I notice with awe how big and clean my kitchen is. My gaze stops at the collection of books on the white shelves. I've got books, very few, but still, books. I read books. Unless they're Anya's. They're most likely Anya's.

I grab the funky salt shaker and try to make out the tiny pictures there. It has Chinese letters all over it; or is it Japanese? I'm not an expert. I turn it around and look at the bottom. It's Chinese. Guessed it right, Japanese people are mostly into robots and anime manga. "So, how did we exactly meet?"

"We went to prom together."

"Oh, so you were a student in Sunnydale High?" I haven't seen her in school, not that I claim to know everyone I went to school with, but I would've noticed her. She's so easy on the eyes I would've put her on my top ten list of drool worthy girls.

"Not exactly. I used to be a vengeance demon."

The salt shaker flies out of my hand and smacks on the floor. It doesn't break; Made in China have improved by the new millennium.

"You're a demon?" A fresh wave of horror sweeps over me, and I let out a small appalled croak.

"Was," Anya says with a pout accompanied with a pathetic shrug. "You see, I used to grant wishes to scorned women. And I came to Sunnydale in order to grant Cordelia a wish against you, seeing as you've cheated on her."

"I cheated on Cordelia?" I did _not_ see this one coming.

"Anyway, things went wrong. I ended up losing my powers, and got stuck in a teenage body, having senseless teenage urges and desires. I asked you to take me to the prom since you were the only dateless guy."

'Dateless guy' is the only thing that makes sense since I woke up in this weird future. I swallow, taking a step back. I'm dating a _demon_, no, an ex-demon to be exact. Haven't you learned a thing from the Ampata incident, moron?

"And we have been boyfriend-girlfriend ever since," Anya concludes our romantic fairytale with a big, happy grin.

I force a big, non-happy grin of my own. "Since the school's prom?"

"Well, we were apart for a while in the summer but we got back together in October."

"Look at you, you remember the month." I keep backing away until I'm perfectly safe behind the table of ugly green fabric.

"October, nineteenth, 1999." Anya takes a few steps ahead, scary smile still intact."It's our anniversary. First time we slept together."

"Oh. Right." I slept with a demon. It's Insect Teacher incident all over again, but without the eggs and virgin sacrifice. Unquestionably, I had sex with Cordelia, not that Anya is the kind of demon that rips virgins' heads off, but I didn't lose my virginity to a demon. I'm perfectly, positively, surely sure.

"Were you my first?" I suddenly ask.

Her lips curl on one side. "No, it was Faith, the men strangler, but and I quote you, I'm more romantic than her." She grins again.

I give a shaky nod, not sure I know what species is this Faith, but Willow didn't seem to like her, so I'm guessing she was bad news. Only you, Xander.

Anya approaches, and I'm trying to back away but hitting the wall behind me. She traps me with her body heavily leaning against mine; her finger hovers above my nose and she breaks in a sexy smile. "Do you wanna see the bedroom?" her voice sounds seductive.

"Now?" mine sounds squeaky.

She pulls my hand to the room on our right. The bedroom is bigger and tidier than mine at my parents' house. It's looks all grown up - there's an ironing board! - and what creeps me out the most is the king size bed. My wide eyes land on the suspicious ring on the night stand, and my heart drops down my pants and out of one of their holes, tumbling to the end of the room.

I point a trembling finger at the circular band monster. "Is this a Promise ring?"

Anya clasps her hands against her chest. "It's the engagement ring."

I can't form words.

"You asked me to marry you two months ago."

I'm marrying a demon! I'm marrying a demon! Alert! Sound the alarm! Put as many exclamation points as possible!

"We're…" I clear my throat, "we're getting married?"

"We haven't told anyone yet." She purses her lips in displeasure. "You were so dead bent over not telling the happy news 'cause it'll wreck the whole mourning Buffy thing."

"We haven't told anyone? Not even my parents?"

"No, which is weird, since your parents could care less about Buffy, but you said your friends should know about it before your parents, 'cause they matter more."

Makes sense. I square my shoulders, my eyebrows furrowing so hard they almost entangle. "So, you're not just my girlfriend… you're my… my…"

Anya beams happily. "Fiancée."

I feel a small bead of sweat sliding down my face and it's suddenly so hard to breathe. A week ago I was this high school loser with a non-existing love life; all I worried about was how to get Giles to pay for our junk food meal at lunch and maybe dinner in a late night of research. Now, I've got myself a fiancée, a wedding, and soon children, and then I've got to work harder in a job I know nothing about to support them all.

I feel my eyes glazing over and I almost pass out due to the lack of air in my lungs. Anya catches me quickly and seats me on a chair, mumbling nonsense words of comfort that only manage to freak me out more. She's fanning me with a magazine and running slender fingers on my sweaty hair. I look up at her and get caught in the mixture of concern and fear glistening in her eyes; but none of it makes me twist with guilt as the hurt she tries to hide. She really loves me.

"I'm sorry," I manage after a couple of inhales and exhales. "It's just… I don't remember any of it. It would've helped if I remembered at least a few things, like how we met and…"

"The sex!" Anya exclaims, straightening her back, her face shining with excitement.

I give her a funny look. "Uh, yeah, that would've helped. I guess."

"No, sex! They say repeating some actions may stir up some memories."

"Who said that?"

"The amnesia romance novel I read last year." She helps me up, looking so excited to the point of jumping up and down. "Maybe if we consummated our love like we usually do, it'll shake something there." She taps the side of my head.

I scratch my scalp, unsure. "Maybe."

"Take off your clothes and lie down. I'll be back." She dashes out of the room and I hear my head demanding I make a run for it. But, the hurt in Anya's eyes earlier, the way her fingers caressed my hair gently, remembering the date of our sex anniversary; I can't do that to her. Ex-demon or not, this is the only girl who finds me attractive and worth marrying, I shouldn't screw this up. Besides, she's right, repeating older actions may bring back some memories.

I take off my clothes reluctantly, keeping my boxers on, and pad to the bed. I stand still at the sight of my old model cars placed in a nice order on the headboard. I bounce on the bed until I reach them, I hold the red, first I got, and look it over. I'm still keeping my old stuff! I search around for anything I know; a bunch of newspapers, a lava lamp, and a ridiculous number of nodding dogs. I'm not familiar with those.

"Honey, I'll be back in a second!"

I return the car abruptly, causing another one to fall down. Putting it back, I throw myself on the bed, feeling the sheets so soft and cool under my naked back. A shudder of excitement runs down my spine, I'm gonna have sex. My gut twists as I wait. _This is it._ The moment I've been waiting for since I hit puberty. Or a little before that.

My gut keeps twisting and my muscles are starting to knot across my shoulder. I stop my teeth from chattering. There's nothing to be nervous about. This is my future bride, the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, she knows me through the bad and good. Why the hell am I so scared of her?

"I'm here." Anya comes in with a big box she sets next to bed. I try to take a good look at the inside without succeeding; is it a box full of condoms? Or maybe costumes? Has she got a Princess Leia in there?

"Are you ready?" she asks, excited.

I hide my anxiety and paint fake enthusiasm on my face. "I was born ready. Let's get it on. Roll in the hay."

"Okay." Her grin vanishes fast and a cute scowl replaces it. "Arms up," she orders.

I tentatively do as said, watching as she digs her hand in the box and brings out a couple of handcuffs. I draw my arms down to my sides in a flash. "What in hell are those?"

She blinks her eyes, confused at my reaction. "I'm gonna chain you to bed," she says as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

"Why?"

"'Cause it's our usual foreplay."

"What?" I exclaim my arms firmly glued to my sides. "Whatever happened to neck kissing and lip nibbling?"

Anya purses her lips, reflecting on what I said. "That's good, but it doesn't turn you on."

I regret asking this. "What turns me on?"

She stuffs her hand in the box again. "This." She brings out a small rectangular leather paddle and shakes it in my face with enthusiasm.

I get an instant headache and I feel myself break out in a cold sweat. I'm into _spanking_. I try to block the mental image of my large body spread on Anya's lap, getting my butt all red and hot for being a bad boy. My cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

"Oh, and you also like these nipple clamps."

"You've got to be kidding me." I'm pleased the words came out more angry than afraid; the option to run out of this freaky apartment is more appealing now.

She stands up, holding the paddle up. "Now, hands above your head."

"Anya…" I say in a pathetic tone.

She spanks my thigh hard. "Do it!"

I raise my arms up hastily. I guess I like to be dominated. Great. Just great.

* * *

"Hey," I say to Willow with a half-hearted smile the second she opens the door.

She leans against the Summers' door entrance, arching her eyebrow at my duffel bag. "Didn't work out with Anya, huh?"

"Anya is great. The apartment is great. It's just…" I feel the burning straps on my thighs as well as the bruises on my nipples and sigh. My knuckles are about to go white due to my tight hold on the bag. "I guess I need to be around someone I know." I give her a shaky lopsided smile.

"Figured as much." Willow pushes the door further open, inviting me in. "I've got some chores to do. Dish washing. I'll take you to an empty room when I'm done."

I get inside, setting my bag on the floor and gazing around the Summers' house. It looks the same, no notable changes, and for the first time since I woke up, I feel at home.

I follow Willow to the kitchen and my heart twists a little when I see her in front of the sink. There's so much wrong with this picture, because only Joyce standing there makes sense. If she were here, she'd point to the cabinet where the popcorn bag is and remind me not to leave the bowl in the living room once we're done eating. "It doesn't feel right; staying here when everyone who lived in the house are gone."

"Dawn isn't." Willow casually picks a dishtowel and starts drying the wet plate.

"Right." I roll my shoulders, stretching a bit, and then rocking back on my heels, hands in pockets. I want to say something, have an ongoing conversation with Willow, but I can't think of anything. For some reason, I feel a little awkward, which is weird, because I've always been at ease around Willow. It feels even more awkward because Willow doesn't say anything either, too engrossed in what she's doing as if she's studying for the finals. It's just dish washing for God's sake!

I begin wandering around the house, trying to find any differences, but then I never was much of an observer when it came to furniture or house structure. It's strange, seeing as I'm a construction worker now, a successful one at that. Since when did I show any interest in building or constructing? The only building I've noticed is the video store, only because of the movie posters on the windows.

I catch a framed picture on the console table; three smiling faces, Buffy, Joyce, and _Dawn_. I narrow my eyes at Buffy; she looks thinner and older than the last time I saw her. Her hair is long and smooth –total TV commercial hair. I wonder what Older Buffy is like. A Buffy with a sister, now that's a hoot; they'll be fighting over the bathroom or a hairbrush then they'll be singing _Sisters_ by the end of the day.

I let out a soft chuckle, my chest twisting with bitterness and my eyes burning. How can Buffy be gone? That's just insanity. I choke up a little at the way Buffy is leaning on her mother; both looking happy and unaware.

"Xander!"

A familiar voice squeals and before I get a good look at the person, I'm knocked to the floor with a Hercules-like bear hug. I freeze with dread and shock at the face gazing down at me. What the hell?

"Willow!" I scream, frantically squirming out of the strong hold, managing to get free with a lot of effort.

Willow comes into the living room, the wet towel in her hand. "What's going on?"

I run towards her and stand next –more like behind – her, pointing with hysterics at the woman. "Buffy! Buffy!"

Willow slaps my hand down, and shushes me with disapproval. "Xander, the others are asleep upstairs."

My gaze goes from Willow to Zombie-Buffy and then back to Willow. "But… Buffy." I look back at the grinning zombie about to pounce again. "She's here!"

Zombie jumps to her feet, grin growing wider by the second. "I'm Buffy, the vampire slayer. You're Xander, my friend."

My mouth hangs open.

"You're a carpenter." Her grin grows into a half-moon. My eyes grow into giant coconuts.

I hide behind Willow again. "Save me."

Willow pulls me from behind her. "Relax, Xander. This is Buffybot."

"Buffy-pot?" I tilt my head, looking at her body; too much clothes, no sign for a pot, or Spanish guitar.

Willow pinches me. "Ouch." I rub on my arm with a pout. "Taking lessons from Anya, are you?"

She rolls her eyes. "This is a robot made to look just like Buffy."

"Why?" I stare at the bubbly expression of Buffybot, feeling at awe at the perfect resemblance. She can pass for a real person so easily.

"Long story. Um… right now we're using her as a cover up for the real Buffy. There would be nothing but badness if it got out that Buffy is dead."

I lean forward until my eyes are at the same level of Buffybot's. They look like real eyes, it's like I'm having an eye contest with Buffy. My Buffy. "Did you make her?" With hesitation, I barely touch the robot's cheek with my finger. "I knew you'd grow up to be an inventor. You've put the Japanese to shame."

"I, um, didn't make her. Told you, long story." She scratches her temple. "Say, Buffybot, shouldn't you be outside slaying?"

"There's something wrong with my reflexes. I thought you'd look it up before I head out."

"Right. Sit on the couch, I'll get the tools." Willow heads to the kitchen, leaving me alone with Buffy Clown. She sits politely on the couch and looks around with innocence. Back to awkwardness, but this one is different; what do you say to the robot version of your best friend?

"So, uh, you're a robot?" Smooth.

She nods; does she ever stop grinning? Are her lips made to look that way? "I'm also the Slayer."

"No one figured it out? That you're a robot?"

"Not yet. Willow makes sure I'm exactly like Buffy."

_But you're not_, I almost say. My emotions reach up and choke off my words and I turn and walk away quickly. I abruptly stop at the knock on the door.

"Xander, would you get that?" Willow says as she races to the living room with a tool box.

I happily stride to the door, away from the whole weirdness, when a thought strikes me, who visits at this hour? I open the door with a wary suspicion, and then freeze, my heart thudding in fear.

"Oh, you. Back from the hospital already?"

Gelled head, leather coat, pale skin; he's definitely the vampire that attacked the high school a couple of weeks ago.

A sharp scream shoots out of my mouth and I start rushing around, searching for a cross. How come a Slayer's house doesn't have a handy cross around? Wooden stakes should be in every corner.

"Spike!"

I jump out of my skin at the high-pitched squeal right behind me, falling on the steps leading upstairs. My heart jack hammering in my chest, my head spins toward Willow, adrenaline pumping, and I point at the door. "Yes, yes, Spike! That's his name. What? He's a recurring monster? Buffy never got to slay him all these years?" I freeze, but this time with shock, at the sight of Buffybot wrapping her arms around Spike's neck and burying her head in his chest lovingly. Spike pushes her away with a grunt.

I leap to my feet, holding up my hands to stop anyone from talking. "Okay. I get it now. This is an alternative universe. There's no way my future is so _Twilight Zone_-y."

"Hey, why all the yelling?"

Dawn in her Pooh bear pajamas is standing up the stairs, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Tara's hands on her shoulders as she looks at us with drowsy eyes.

"Are you happy, Xander? You woke them up." Willow's hands are wedged in her hips, a disapproving expression on her face.

"No, I'm not happy, and I won't be if someone doesn't freaking _explain_ what the hell is going on here!" To my happiness, the words sounded more angry than hysterical, even as I'm fighting the urge to run back to the hospital and ask Nurse Julie to take me in. So far she's the only one who makes sense.

Dawn stands next to me and touches my arm lightly. "I'll explain. Let's go to the kitchen."

I follow her, but my eyes are still gazing angrily at Willow. Dawn pulls out a chair for me and then goes to the fridge and pours me a glass of water. The cold liquid washing my dry throat soothes me. I set the glass on the table and take a deep breath. "Why aren't we more upset about Spike standing in the door way?"

Dawn sits next to me, elbow on the table, resting her head on her hand. "Because Spike is a good vampire now."

I scoff. "Angel-good?"

"More like his own good. He's got a chip in his head that hurts him when he attacks humans."

Forget about _Twilight Zone_, this is getting more _Star Trek_… when the writers weren't even trying. "How did he get it?"

"The government. He was captured and they put that chip in his head. He's been good ever since."

The government knows about vampires? Somehow I could care less at the moment. "So he's part of us?"

"Pretty much."

"And we like him?"

"Totally."

A hesitant pause. "I like him?"

"He's your best friend."

"Really?" I lift my wide eyes at her. She appears casual, not at all seeing the weird in this. "My best friend is a _vampire_?"

"You guys have bonded over the years. And you've always wanted a guy friend."

I consider this. It definitely hasn't been easy ever since Jesse died. Buffy and Willow were never able to fill in his place, they don't get the guy prospective in things; they don't even like _Star Trek_. "So, he's good now? He can't hurt us?"

"He doesn't want to," Dawn says in a low voice, full of trust.

No vampire ever expressed the desire to care for humans in a not-food sort of way. None that I know of that is. Angel is the only vampire I know that does and it's only because of his _human_ soul. It's doubtful that any vampire not touched by humanity will care much about us. "Why? I mean, I get not being able to hurt humans, but this thing in his head can't make him not want it. Right?"

"I think the not wanting it part is from Spike himself."

I do my consider thing again, and then frown at her, unsure. "We're really best friends?"

She sets her arm down and straightens her back. "Why would I lie about that?"

_Because I don't know if you won't, I don't know you at all_, I want to say, but I keep my mouth shut. I narrow my eyes at her, she tilts her head. I sigh.

"Okay. Now that we got that all cleared up, what's up with Buffybot's impulsive throwing her arms around him?"

"She's in love with him."

I look baffled. "Okay, maybe a vampire can have feelings, but a robot?"

"She's programmed to love him."

"Who would do that?"

"Spike. He asked the guy who made her to make her love him, because Buffy wouldn't."

"Spike is in love with Buffy?"

"Yeah, but she didn't love him back."

Okay, I'm starting to connect a few things together. Spike is in love with Buffy, but she doesn't feel the same way. I'm in love with Buffy, but she doesn't feel the same way. And both of us bonded over our unrequited love for Buffy. "Wait, so Buffybot was created to harbor a major jones for Spike?"

She nods.

"That's sick." Why didn't I think of that?

We sit in silence for a moment. I'm not sure what to think, everything she said is so unbelievably uncanny, like a badly written novel written by an unreliable author. A piece of metal in someone's brains? A carbon copy robot of a person? Who thinks of this stuff? Someone who doesn't have a life, that's for sure.

"You wanna head out there?" Dawn asks gently, gesturing towards the foyer.

"Um, sure." I don't think I'm ready for another encounter with the circus-zone yet, but staying in the kitchen won't make it go away. Time to face the music. I trail after Dawn, flinching when I see Spike again, I have to get used to having him around more often. Just forget that he tried to snack on me a few weeks ago.

"Hey," I manage with an exaggerated hand wave.

My best friend stares indifferently at me.

"Sorry about earlier. I've got amnesia, so…"

"Tara already filled me in."

Tara smiles at me. The _nerve_, he's my friend; I should've told him myself. I turn my attention to Spike. "So, you're here to…" I let the sentence hang. He appeared surprised to see me back from the hospital. So, he's obviously not here to see me.

"I was on patrol. Didn't see the bot, so I thought I'd check."

I nod, shuffling from foot to foot for a moment.

"You want to come?" he asks.

I snap my eyes up at him. "Come?"

"Out. Patrolling. We do this every night."

"You and me?"

"Yes," Spike says gruffly.

Of course, we do that. We're friends.

"Here, Xander." Dawn rushes towards me with a bow and a quiver filled with arrows. "Your favorite weapon."

"I'm Robin Hood now?"

"You're a skilled archer. Isn't he, Spike?"

Spike doesn't reply, but lets out a tiny annoyed huff. The virtue-ness of patience is so lost on him.

I grab the bow and sling the quiver on my shoulder, feeling like a forest ranger for some reason. "Okay. I'm all set. Let's go, Spike."

"Are you going with them, Xander?" Willow arrives to the foyer with Buffybot, all mechanic fixing done.

I shrug. "Apparently."

She glances at my bow with concern. "Don't you wanna rest?"

"Won't say no to the tour of duty; dusting vampires will cheer me up." I grin at Spike. "No offense."

Spike doesn't reply, again, instead he leads the way with Buffybot trotting behind him merrily.

I return my attention to the three women left, and salute them with a cool head turn as I go out. "I'm off then, see you guys tomorrow."

Before I close the door behind me, I feel a gentle tug on my arm. I look at Willow, her face a picture of worry. "Be careful."

My heart beats, I smile warmly at the Willow I finally recognize. "I will."

* * *

2001 keeps getting weirder. I'm not sure who to cast my baffled stare at; a vampire who was only recently about snack on me, but now is unable to? Or a robot that looks exactly like my dead best friend? It doesn't help that the night is so quiet, where are the vampires when you need them? Evil, ruthless ones, that is; my gaze settles on Spike.

He's different from the vampire I met at school; that one was snarky and chatty at his best. This one barely speaks a word, face grim, movements stiff. Is it Buffy's death that put a downer in his behavior? Is he that in love with her? The thought still doesn't register well in my mind. A vampire in love with a human? It's like a human being in love with a cow; they have a name for those, which escapes me. I'm sure the vampire community will have a say in the immorality –or morality- of a vampire having sex thoughts about his food.

I know Angel was a vampire in love with human Buffy, but there was that soul thing Buffy kept shoving down our throats. It's supposed to be a big deal, something that enables vampires to be good. Something that separates them from other vampires. Now, suddenly, they can be good on their own? What logic is that?

I slam against Spike's back when he stops unexpectedly. I grin apologetically at the exasperated look he shoots over his shoulder. "Did you hear that?" he asks Buffybot.

She nods.

The only thing I hear is silence.

"It's a vampire," Buffybot says confidently, gazing at the bushes on the right.

"Deal with it. We'll keep searching for the demon."

She grins at him. "Ooky-doky." She twirls around, golden hair flying before slapping against her back, and strides towards her prey.

I scurry behind Spike the second he starts walking. "What demon are we looking for?"

"The Neothral demon."

"The one that hurt me?" I ask, touched. When he doesn't reply, I realize how stupid my question was. "Of course we are."

I look at the bushes where we left Buffybot and wonder if she'll be okay. After all, she's just a robot; a perfectly designed robot nonetheless, but still, she's no _Terminator_. I firmly believe we haven't gone that far with technology, the movie says 2029, it's twenty-eight years to go.

A heavy weight suddenly drops on top of me, and I find my face being shoved to the grass. I struggle in a weak attempt to free myself from the iron grip on my neck, pointy knees are pressing painfully on my back. I taste dirt as I try to scream, my voice muffled by the soil. Out of the blue, the weight disappears, and I push myself up with my hands, releasing a big breath. I sweep the dirt off my face with my sleeve to catch Spike kicking a giant vampire in the guts. There's another vampire jumping at Spike from behind, but Spike spins around, his leather duster swirling around him, and punches him in the face.

Panic rises inside me as I stare helplessly at Spike fighting the larger vampires. I notice the bow in my hand and inwardly yell at myself to use it. I pull an arrow out of the quiver and attach the back of it to the bow string with the nock; I use my fingers to hold the arrow on the string. I draw the string towards my face and try to aim at one of the vampires – which is so hard considering how they keep moving. I shut my eyes, count to three, and then relax my fingers on the string.

"Bloody hell!"

I open my eyes to find my arrow protruding from Spike's leg. His glare is enough to tear up my skin.

"Uh, sorry."

The vampires knock Spike down to the ground by crashing full-body on him.

I wince. "Sorry. Again."

* * *

It doesn't matter if it was me who dusted the vampire on top of Spike, setting him free to off the larger one himself. The bottom line is I'm the one who got Spike to limp his way home, which is apparently in the cemetery. I look around the tomb stones as an eerie feeling climbs up my spine. It never felt as chilling to be here when I used to go patrolling with Buffy, we usually spend most of our time talking and joking, even when vampires made their appearance we mostly practice our wit on them.

Now, it's so quiet here with the scary movie element of creepiness, maybe because Spike doesn't talk to me. I wonder where he lives; is it one of those crypts? Or does he share a coffin with a dead guy? He probably uses an empty coffin of a vampire he killed.

We stop in of front a metal door with lattice windows, Spike's home. Unfortunately, all jokes about Spike living the cliché in a coffin vanish away when I realize I'm standing before his crypt. He opens the door and as we go in we're greeted by another door, this time it's made of wood. Boy, Spike sure cares about security; you never know when a dead thing decides to rob your crypt.

The inside surprises me; cozy enough for a vampire but not as cozy as the Summers' home. A red and black footstool in front of a green armchair, an old TV, a small, wooden end table –yep, as cozy as a vampire home can get. There are some sconces on the walls and a couple of stone benches. I notice a couple of urns by the door and assume they were there before Spike decided to move in.

Speaking of Spike, I see him sitting on the armchair with some gauze. "Let me help," I exclaim and rush toward him. I grab the gauze from his resisting hand and start treating the wound in his leg. "I'm guessing there's no need for Antiseptics?"

Spike scoffs. "Just go home." He reaches down to snatch the gauze from my hands, but I draw it away. He throws his head back in irritation and doesn't try to take it from me again.

"You know, Angel lives in an apartment," I say as I work on his leg. "Lived. God, this whole half-amnesia thing is hard to get used to."

"Yeah, well, I'm not all interested to be like Angel."

I smile despite myself. Someone who dislikes Angel ought to be a friend of mine. I catch a few books on the table next to his chair; they seem to be old and dusty. Perhaps he'd borrowed them from Giles, for he's the only one brave enough to dig into them. And being a fellow Brit, some clichés are sure to stick, no matter how bad boy you try to be.

"So, when did you move in here?"

"After I moved out from your place," he answers lifelessly.

I raise shocked eyes at him. "We used to be roommates."

He grunts.

And he chooses a crypt over an apartment? Well, a crypt is probably the most appropriate home for a vampire. Angel used to live in an apartment, and now he opened an investigation agency. Not surprising, Angel always liked to pretend he can pass for a human. Spike seems to be okay with who he is, doesn't pretend to be anything else. I guess I like that better than Angel's fake humanization.

I tap lightly on Spike's neatly wrapped leg and grin up at him. "You're good to go."

Spike's brows draw together at my work, a little impressed.

"I'm good with wounds. I've patched Buffy's injuries countless of times."

His face falls at the mention of Buffy, and then he looks away.

"You really loved her, huh?"

His earlier frown is back, but this time more pronounced.

"You've got the whole mopey thing down so well. It's like talking to Angel."

He turns his head to me with an expression I've never seen on his face, plain befuddled. "What?"

"Just saying, you were so full of talk when we first met you. Now you could barely speak, I don't think I want another Angel around. Barely stood the real one."

His glare is too sharp his nostrils almost flared. "I'm nothing like Angel."

I get up and fold my arms, challenging him. "Not convinced."

"Could care less." He pushes himself up, winces in pain due to his sudden move. He limps to the small fridge in the corner and brings out a glass mason jar filled with blood. To be honest, I'm more disturbed about the fact that Spike has graphics on his fridge than the blood in the jar.

As Spike pours himself some blood, my gaze drifts to two sarcophagi on the other side. "Do you sleep on one of those?"

"Do you plan to stay here longer?"

I grimace to hide the strange stab of hurt inside me; a sharp remark about to escape my lips, but I don't say anything. He's obviously mad about me shooting him, which is unfair. I'm going through something huge here; he should understand I'm not the Xander he knows yet, four years behind. Besides, I just patched his leg up. I should get a thank you for this.

His wooden door jerks open all of a sudden, and Buffybot stands there, her grinning face slowly dissolves into a look of utter horror. "Spike! You're hurt."

"Thought I told you to never step a foot in here," Spike growls, his human features disappearing into the vampire façade.

She appears disturbed by his words, her lips forming a pathetic pout. "But, Spike…"

"Get out of here!" he shouts, pointing a finger at me. "And take him with you."

As much as it annoys me how he just pointed at me like I'm some old, unwanted pair of socks, I force my feet to move and gently lead Buffybot out. I don't fire back, because I understand. I can't stand the sight of Buffybot, too.

* * *

Shadows are filling the place as most of the furniture is illuminated by the moonlight. A light breeze coming from the half-opened window forces me to draw the blanket up until everything's covered but my face. The cold suits this cruel nightmare; I don't think I can handle it much more. It's funny 'cause I've always had daydreams about sleeping in Buffy's room, but those daydreams include Buffy being in the room with me, not her psycho, robot self. My eyes bore the lifeless robot sitting on the chair, head lying on Buffy's desk. If it isn't for the wires coming out of her back, I'll be able to imagine it being Buffy sleeping on the desk after pulling an all nighter.

I toss and turn in Buffy's bed, unable to get comfortable. I can't sleep here. It's so hard to close my eyelids knowing that Buffy used to climb into those windows and sneak in after a night of slaying to catch up on a few hours sleep before heading to school. It's like being in her room, on her bed, smelling her scent on the blanket rubbing my nose, makes me understand what she had gone through. All those nights of walking down cemeteries alone, protecting us by losing hours of sleep; I feel like I've never appreciated what she had done for us enough.

Something inside squeezes painfully, I wish I can see her again for just one second, to show her how grateful I am.

"Xander, you're here?"

I bolt upright to find Dawn standing by the door, her silky hair not as crumbled as her pajamas, yet a little fell on her face almost hiding the haunted look in her eyes. I plant my feet to the floor, my eyes not leaving her.

"Willow said it's the only spare room." My hands fist the sheets so hard that my knuckles are starting to go white. Dawn notices and purses her lips in a thin line, a pocket of sympathy lingers there somewhere.

I drop my gaze away from her, and then return it to Buffybot. "Spike was really upset tonight."

Dawn looks at Buffybot, too. "He's always like that when he's hurting."

My fists start to shake in their tight hold on the sheets. "I can relate. I wanna smash it to pieces."

"I don't." I feel her weight on the bed as she sits next to me. "I want her around just so that I can come by at night, look at her and pretend it's Buffy sleeping."

I flinch when she rests her head on my shoulder. My body remains stiff for a moment before I relax my muscles and wrap an arm around her, pulling her closer. I feel her warmth against my cold side as we stare at Buffybot and just pretend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

"I'm real," Dawn sings along with Jennifer Lopez, nodding her head and shaking her shoulders to the beat. The magazine in her lap bounces slightly as her crossed legs move with the music. I can't help the smile curling up my lips and find myself imitating her. Her eyes are glued to the screen; she's so engrossed in the music video she doesn't notice the magazine falling from her lap to the floor. I slip from my place on the couch and sit next to her on the floor.

She suddenly grabs my hand and points at the screen. "See that guy?" I look at a bald dancer doing moves I can't dream of copying. "She's gonna marry him in September. Second marriage of many to come."

I crack a laugh, almost joking about pushing myself down the stairs to wake up in 2005 just to see if J LO remains faithful to Backup Dancer. My laugh trails off and I snap my mouth shut.

"You never know with those celebrities," she comments. "I'm sure all those failed marriages were mostly about publicity and not love." She picks up the magazine next to her and starts flipping through the pages as a new video from some boyband starts on TV.

"Oh my God," Dawn exclaims, staring at a picture of a blonde woman with an afro and a red shredded dress. "This is the all-time most hideous celebrity look I've ever seen. I'm actually starting to claw my eyes out. How can she actually put this on without having a nervous breakdown? That make up, that hair, big X for X-Tina."

I look at the celebrity in question, she does look hideous, but then my eyes shift to Jennifer Aniston at the bottom of the page. Now this is a celebrity who always looks great.

"Say, is _Friends_ still on? Or did it get the ax?"

"So on." Dawn swerves to face me. "Guess who got together?"

She looks so excited so I'm sure it's not Ross and Rachel. Okay, who makes sense and isn't predictable?

"Joey and Phoebe?"

"Chandler and Monica."

"What?" I cry out. "Last season, she didn't take him seriously when he brought up the idea of them going out."

Dawn shrugs. "It was all sudden. No build up."

"Doesn't make sense. Chandler and Joey make more sense."

Her eyes gleam. "You think so, too?"

Someone clears their throat. We turn to the door to find Willow standing there with hands on her hips and an amused smile on her face. "Sorry to interrupt this interesting discussion on the developments in TV's most successful sitcom, but it's time to go school shopping, Dawnie."

Dawn jumps to her feet, running towards the stairs while yelling over her shoulders. "I won't take long."

I return my gaze to Fashion Victim in Dawn's abandoned magazine. "What do you think of…" I narrow my eyes, reading the name, "Christina Aguilera?"

"She was really hot when she was a genie in a bottle." She walks over to the couch and throws herself on it. "Seems like you two were having fun."

"We were." I grin up at her. She returns it, and places her slender hands on my shoulders, massaging them. Her hands, as always, are strong, stroking hard on my intense muscles. I move my head back until I feel her knees, and release a happy sigh. I can picture her smiling down at me, even with my eyes contently closed.

"I'm glad you get along nicely with Dawn."

"She's great. It's like spending time with Buffy."

"Really?" Willow says through an amused giggle.

"Don't you see it?"

"No. They're not that alike."

"C'mon, all that fashion talk and making fun of celebrities. It's what Buffy talks about most of the time –when she's not talking about Angel and slaying anyway."

"Maybe when we were kids. Buffy barely talked about trivial stuff since we started college."

Trivial stuff? Since when is trashing or crushing after superstars considered trivial? I open my eyes, looking at Willow's hand massaging my left shoulder; her nails are nicely trimmed and polished. I can vaguely remember a time when Buffy got Willow to have a pedicure with her. Willow doesn't usually go for that sort of stuff, she'd much rather spend her spare time reading a book or surfing the net. Her looks is the last thing she ever cared about.

"How are you gonna pay for Dawn's school shopping?"

"There's the money Joyce left. We mainly use it for Dawn's needs or house related stuff." Her fingers stiffen on my shoulders. "I'm a little worried though. There's so much to pay for, and with Joyce's hospital bills, we'll be lucky to have any money by September. A few days ago, a demon crashed our window and we had to pay someone to fix it."

I rest my head on her knees again, looking up at her. "That's what usually happens when you get someone to fix a broken something in the house."

She smiles down at me. "We never had to. You usually fixed it for free."

"Me?"

"Yep, Mr. Carpenter."

"Oh." I had forgotten about the fact that I have a job. It seems so grown up. But then, I am a grown up. Maybe I should act more like it.

"You know, I think I'm ready to go to work."

Willow laughs. "No, you're not."

"I am."

"But it's too soon, honey. You were discharged from the hospital only yesterday."

"I know, but I want to go. I just wanna understand how it happened, you know."

"How what happened?"

"Me and construction."

"Oh." Willow appears a little perplexed, like she wants to explain but can't. Don't we talk about things anymore? She should know why and how I chose my lifetime job; it's one of the best friend's duties to know everything there is to know about their friends. Unless we're not that close anymore.

The front door bursts open out of the blue, taking my mind off the dreadful thought of not being Willow's best friend any longer. My eyes grow wide, not because Anya is standing in front of me all pissed off and scary, it's the thought of someone leaving the front door unlocked on the Hellmouth. Joyce never did that.

I glue myself against Willow's legs, looking at Anya subtly from beneath the curtain of my fringe.

"Why haven't you called?" she demands.

"I…"

"Cut him some slack, Anya." Willow stands protectively between me and Anya. My attempt to hide my whole body behind Willow's thin legs goes unsuccessful, so I settle for hiding my face. "He doesn't remember being your boyfriend."

"And he won't remember if he keeps ignoring me like that."

I peer at her from behind Willow's legs. "I haven't ignored you, Anya."

The look in her eyes sends me hiding again. "You're avoiding me, though. Obviously you're so happy to forget all about me."

I suppress a sigh and get on my feet. Rubbing my hands on my pants, I try to stand tall as I explain, "Anya, I'm still trying to adjust to everything." She doesn't look convinced or impressed. "Tomorrow I'll head back to work, see if I…"

"You're going back to work?" Anya's eyes lighten up suddenly. "That's the best thing I've heard since your stupid, convenient amnesia."

With a dopey smile, I ask, "You're happy?"

"Of course, I am." She startles me with a tight hug, and then beams up at me, slapping my cheeks happily. "I have to get back to the Magic Box. I've wasted a good ten minutes when I should be taking people's money." She walks briskly to the door, gives me an air kiss, and then closes the door behind her.

I gaze at Willow with furrowed eyebrows. "What was that all about?"

"She has this strong obsession with money." Willow shrugs. "What did she mean when she said convenient?"

I bite my lip. Anya means the engagement, probably implying that I'm doing this whole amnesia thing on purpose to get out of this whole wedding deal. To be honest, I won't be surprised if I'd pushed myself into the demon's teeth.

* * *

The weather is so hot the car's door handle had burnt my fingers. I had to sit in the driving seat for some time until the air conditioner cooled the car a bit, and the steering wheel was touchable. Now that I'm already at the site, I can't bring myself to get out of the car; the blazing sun isn't the only reason. Feeling the cool air against my dry cheek, I stare at the men hauling some heavy objects inside the unfinished building. Their large, muscled bodies, their tolerance of the heat, their strength carrying weighty things; it all leaves me shrinking in my seat. While I pride myself for being a big fellow, I just can't see myself as the head of anything but my body. They all look older than me, how the hell did I become their superior?

It doesn't make sense, even Willow couldn't explain it to me, but then she obviously couldn't explain it to herself either. She said it came as a shock to all of them that I was doing so well in construction. There was a story there, but she thought it was better not to tell it now and confuse me more than I already am.

I jerk hearing the strong knocks behind me, swerving sharply to see a blonde guy grinning from the passenger seat window. He appears younger than the others, I wanna say my age, but I notice a wedding ring in his finger. Not that it says much, after all I'm engaged.

I force a grin of my own and reluctantly open my door. "Hey," I greet the man nervously.

"Xander, man, didn't think you'd be coming back so soon. Still going for the hard worker fetish?"

My hair is already sweating under the hardhat I'm wearing. I lower it a bit to protect my eyes from the sunrays. "Who are you?" I ask, and then wince at how rude it came out.

He smacks his forehead. "Right. You've got that memory loss thing going on. Creepy, man." He comes over to me, extending a hand. "Guess I have to reintroduce myself. Mike Miller, fellow construction worker at your service."

"Xander Harr…"

He barks a laugh. "I know who you are."

"Right." I don't like this guy.

"Tony will be pleased to see you." He winks, heading towards the site. I trail after him, trying to discretely wipe my sweating hands on my pants. Okay, so I've read a little about construction on the internet, mostly the Wikipedia page, there's nothing to worry about. I'm gonna do just fine.

I raise my gaze up at the men working on top. "Did someone ever fall?"

"Sometimes."

"Do they die?"

"What do you think?"

My body goes cold at the thought of me standing up there in the high building. Falling down won't be as amusing as it was shown in _Baby's Day Out_. Some people died working at construction sites, not that I ever read about it, but it's a plausible possibility. And Mike isn't denying it.

"Guys, look who's here!" Mike calls the others, pointing at me with so much excitement and pride that I feel my cheeks heat more than they already are. The guys are racing towards me, thrilled to have me back. I'm the head honcho, the team's captain, the most popular kid in school, the prom king. Right now, I'm a jock.

I should be grinning at the attention, telling a catch phrase or something. But I'm too underwhelmed to enjoy the moment. The handshakes are crashing my bones, the shoulder pats are about to knock me down, the stench of their armpits will make me pass out in a second. I wanna be home watching more sitcoms with Dawn.

A dark-haired man with a serious face approaches me. "How you doing, Harris?"

"Good. I guess." A little pause. "Who are you?"

"Tony, the foreman. I'm your boss."

Oh, so I'm not exactly the biggest shot. I'm the second in command guy. Somehow, I'm completely relieved by this news.

"Good to have you back. We're so far behind." He glances at a guy ordering some men inside the building. "Anderson is doing the best he can. But he could barely fill your shoes."

I give a good look at Anderson as he barks a couple of orders I don't understand and the guys obeying him submissively. That was me before the amnesia?

"We're done wasting time around here," Tony says. "We should get back to work."

"Speech!" a guy in the back hollers. Others clap, whistle, and repeat. "Speech."

Tony releases a suffering sigh before turning bored eyes at me. "They want you to say something inspiring."

"Oh, all right." I clear my throat. "In the fields of architecture and civil engineering, construction is a process that consists of the building or assembling of infrastructure."

Everybody is looking at me like I've grown demon heads. I hang my head in shame.

Tony is the first to snap out of shock and starts clapping his hands. "Okay. You heard your speech. Back to work."

I turn to Tony, apologetic, as the others head back to work. "Sorry about that."

Tony scratches the back of his neck, a cloud of displeasure appears on his face, and he doesn't try to hide it. "Look, all I understand is that I have this tight schedule and I can't bear losing any more men." He licks his chopped lips, regarding me with a fed up stare. "You're obviously not fit to have your own crew back yet, so how about some desk work until you get those memories back?"

Gazing at a bunch of papers I don't understand, no thanks. "Uh, how about I just look around? Maybe it'll trigger something in here." I tap the side of my head with my finger.

Tony's looks unimpressed.

"I'm sure it'll help," I add weakly. What's his problem? Doesn't he know what amnesia is? I have no memory of how things work around here, I'd probably get someone hurt doing the wrong thing. I'm guessing the death rate at construction sites is really high.

He shakes his head and goes into the building wordlessly. Good riddance, I think, a little upset, then begin surfing the place. I feel stung, I know I didn't deserve Tony's attitude, and it sucks considering how high and respectful my position is around here. He just forgot about all my contributions and hard work the minute I got hurt. Okay, I did hear about bosses being asses, seen them on TV shows plenty of times; it's probably power corruption, no one can control it.

I wonder what kind of boss I was. I have my own crew, right? I get to order them around, decide when to have a lunch break, shut down the crew whenever I didn't feel like working. Cordelia had said that I'd be delivering pizzas, I'll ask Willow about Cordelia's phone number later – this na na nana na ought to be said.

I bump against a guy carrying a girder, and the next thing I hear is the guy's anguish scream. My heart gives a huge leap and my gaze focuses on the guy's foot under the girder. "Shit, man, I didn't…" I trail off, growing more nervous as everybody circles us.

"Dude, that musta hurt like shit," one comments, quickly lifting the girder, freeing the guy's foot.

"What's your…" the injured guy stops his angry question when his eyes land on my face. "Xander?"

I give a strained smile. "He's here," I try my hardest not to sound like the girl from _Poltergeist_.

"What the hell is going on?" Tony's angry voice reaches my dull ears.

"I dropped the beam on my foot," the guy says. "I was distracted by the sun." I cast stunned eyes at the guy before I smile in thanks when he glances my way.

"We can't afford for you to get clumsier, Richard. Everybody, get back to work."

I move towards Richard, wanting to show my gratitude by helping him. But another guy gets to him before me, putting his arm around his shoulder, supporting his weight against his body. He helps him towards a trailer, leaving me standing like an idiot who's got nothing to do in a busy working place.

"Harris," Tony calls me, and I heave a sigh before turning to him. "I think working around here may help refresh that memory of yours. How about some face-work?"

"Sure." I nod enthusiastically, about to get to work, then I stop. "Uh. What's a face-work?"

I flinch in advance, directing my gaze down before I get a glimpse of his eyeballs bulging out.

* * *

"Wow, those guys are nasty." My eyes go wide staring at the screen of Willow's laptop on my lap. Dawn thought the best way to catch up with TV shows is to read the _Television Without Pity_ recaps; she made it clear though not to read a recap of a show I really like.

Dawn nudges my shoulder; her head comes to my view as she stares at the screen with me. "They are, aren't they?"

"They just tore down _Ally McBeal_. I'm sure David E. Kelly would quit the show if he read that." I point at a quote saying this season is better off flushed in a toilet and never be seen again.

Dawn giggles, swiftly pulling her hair into a bun, securing it by a chopstick. I can see the shape of her face clearly without her hair framing it. Her skin flawless and glowing, her beautiful face is more noticeable. I sweep the drool before she catches it and return my attention to the laptop screen.

Reading a couple of lines, I grin at another snarky comment and wish I've actually watched further of _Ally McBeal_ to get more into the recap. "Hey, did they do _X-Files_?"

"I told you it's a big mistake." Dawn snatches the laptop from my hands. "Never read TWoP's recaps for a show you love. A show you despise, a given, a show you don't care about much, sure, but _never_ a show you're obsessed with. Believe me, I learned that mistake reading the _Dawson's Creek_'s recaps."

I give a mischievous look. "Can I read the _Dawson's Creek_'s recaps?"

"No."

"Just me."

"Never."

I chuckle softly at her and read over her shoulder. "Heh, good one." I sit back, grinning as I recall all the cruel snarky comments I've just read. "Man, I wish Cordelia was around. All this _Ally McBeal_ bashing works well on her. "

"You could take some tips and use them on Spike," Dawn suggests, pressing on the back button and choosing another episode recap.

"Spike?" I suddenly flashback to that night when Spike snapped at Buffybot, his anger and intolerance so visible and painful.

"Yeah, you guys exchange insults all the time. It's your thing." She glances sideways at me. "And Spike has a sharp wit."

I puff my manly chest indignantly. "I have a sharp wit."

"Not as sharp as Spike's. He beats you most of the time."

"Hand this laptop over, sister." I snatch it back huffily, scanning the page for a worthy insult.

Dawn scoots closer. "I suggest you go for the ones about John. They're the snarkiest."

I jump to the second page, frustrated at the lame mockery and the loss of the snappy writing I had read in the recap of the earlier episode. Maybe I should reread that again. Dawn's comment about Spike being wittier than me ticked me off to no end, especially since I haven't seen much of that wit what with him playing all gloom and doom with a touch of Angel-brood.

"So, have you talked to Spike after that night?"

I jump to a further page, pressing on the key with force. "No."

"You haven't gone patrolling yesterday?"

"I had to sleep early for work today."

"Are you gonna go to work tomorrow?"

"I guess."

More pointless crap about Ally's obsession with Richard, but no sharp sarcasm, apparently Pamie is way less witty than Gwen. Maybe I should stick with Gwen's recaps. I press the 'back' button. More than once.

"So, no patrolling tonight either?"

"No."

She's probably disappointed about that. I wonder why. It's not like there's anything interesting going on at patrols. At this point, the mere thought of staking vampires should be equivalent to the thought of taking out the garbage. Tiresome, but a must do. Maybe it's Spike's "wit", I probably used to list all the puns and cynicism he said to her; perhaps there's a notebook in my apartment with all the Spike wit I was able to write. Sorry to disappoint, Dawnster, but other than Grumpy, there's nothing intelligent about Spike's dialogue, simply because there's none of it.

Setting the laptop aside, I throw my head back on the couch, eyes staring at the ceiling. "Dawn, what's Spike really like? Before he got all McCoy?"

"He's a vampire, not a doctor."

I grin at the ceiling before looking at her, her grin as big as mine. She rests her head on the couch, a dreamy expression clouding her face. "He was the coolest person alive."

A spiky ball of jealousy goes down my chest. "Really?"

"Well, not exactly alive, but then pointing out that vampires are not alive gets a little stale after saying it for thousands of times." She smiles, her eyes glittering with idolization that I get even more annoyed knowing it's directed towards Spike. "He's got this bad boy attitude, you know. And the leather jacket, gotta love that. And the motorcycle he got in exchange of his useless Desoto, he rides it without a helmet on, so badass."

I clench my jaw, a sarcastic comment dies in my throat when Dawn raises bittersweet eyes at me.

"On a less shallow note, he's a real good friend to have. He's been there for me in the lowest points of my life. He even stuck around after Buffy died." She looks down at her fingers that clung to each other desperately. "I feel safe around him, loved and cared for. It's a good feeling."

I shake my head at myself, and then lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. Dawn is alone; she needs all the people she can get around her, protecting her, loving her. It must have been soothing to have a vampire without a soul being there for her. I've never met a vampire who cares about human beings before, except for Angel who doesn't count because he has a soul. Spike is probably a unique vampire, unless that chip in his head does affect how he feels about humans.

"Besides, we share the undying love for _Dawson's Creek_."

"Spike watches _Dawson's Creek_?" I ask, stunned.

"You can start from there." Her brilliant eyes gleam with encouragement. I can tell she digs me a little.

* * *

Spike stops short when he notices me sitting on his armchair in front of his blaring TV. I squirm slightly under his sharp gaze, and then focus mine on the white lines covering the screen. The bad connection isn't surprising, taking into account that the reception must be so off in a cemetery, where a few if no one watches TV.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice is so low, so I look up; his face is as blank as his TV screen is soon going to be. The lack of emotions in his voice and expression makes my stomach knot painfully.

"Your door was unlocked."

"That's not what I asked."

"And your TV connection is calamitous."

Spike squints his eyes. "What?"

I laugh tensely. "Catchy word, isn't? Willow taught it to me. Not your Willow, my Willow, the one I left in high school." I consider what I just said. "But, your Willow is my Willow in the future so that makes her my Willow, too."

Spike shakes his head, tossing the stake in his hand on the table. "Get out."

"No, it makes sense. Your Willow is my Willow when she was…"

"No, I meant sod off. Get out of my crypt."

"Oh." The TV goes black at this point. "No."

He looks me straight in the eye, his mouth clamps in a tight, furious line. "Not your choice, git. It's my home. I decide who stays and who leaves. So, bugger off."

"Pull your fangs out for a second." I stand bolt up, not breaking the eye contact. "I'm not leaving. What are you going to do about that?"

His vampire features dominate for a second before slipping back to his human face. His mouth moves, about to say something rude and threatening and at this point I'm not going to take any of his crap.

"You can't force me to go." I cross my arms, standing tall and confident. "Your chip won't let you hurt me."

The thin line of Spike's lips trembles with frustration, his hands fist into a tight ball by his sides. In stressed silence, he grabs the stake on his table and heads for the door.

"Why are you avoiding me?" I shout after him. "Did we have a fallout before the accident?"

His answer is slamming the wooden door shut behind him. I grumble low in my throat, tugging on my jacket and rush to the door. Angrily, I pull the door open and run out as fast as I can only to smack against the metal doors. I recoil, falling down on my butt. Whimpering, I touch my tender forehead, my brows wrinkled with irritation.

I push myself up, opening the freaking doors, and suddenly stop when I catch Spike swinging a leg over the seat of a motorcycle. _His_ motorcycle. Dawn was right; it looks so cool.

"Spike, where are you going?" My question goes unheard as the motorcycle roars loudly followed by Spike speeding away, leaving nothing but clouds of dust behind him.

I scurry to my car, stumbling once on the way. I start the engine and quickly pull away, my eyes searching for Spike's motorcycle, but I see nothing.

He's gone.

* * *

I bang my head against the wheel out of frustration as it's been almost an hour with me driving around town, looking for Spike. The trails his cycle had left vanished after reaching the paved road, and suddenly Sunnydale became New York –minus the Time's Square lights and wandering funky people - where the hell would he disappear to in a small town? I should probably head back home; I have to wake up early for work tomorrow anyway.

My mind can't stop thinking about Spike's rude, moody behavior. I don't get it. I talked to Dawn about this earlier this evening; she explained it as Spike having a hard time with Buffy's death. She even stated that Spike is being rude to her as well, which is why she doesn't visit his crypt anymore. I don't want to stay away from Spike, though. Right now I need all the friends I can get, and since we're tight buddies, I'm sure it won't take long to break Spike's ice.

Tapping my fingers on the wheel, my eyes mist over the red light to the cars parked in front of some seedy bar. I blink twice, rub my eyes, and then blink for the third time. Spike's bike is parked between two cars in front of the bar as well. Idiot, of course, he'll be hitting bars after I humiliated him in his own home.

I steer the wheel frankly, glad it's only me standing before the traffic light, and park my car in the empty space. I almost forget to put some coins in the machine, and return in a haste to toss in whatever I have in my pockets. Hurrying to the door, I stop, taken aback, when I spot a slippery demon walking out of the bar, his feet barely holding him and his singing voice so slurred. He acts like Dad on a lousy poker night. Wait a sec, a _demon_ is walking out of the bar, drunk, not slain, what the hell does that mean?

I try not to think about the possibility of this demon killing every single person in the bar, including Spike. Human blood must inebriate this demon's species, our blood is their alcohol!

I quickly get a hold of my stake when the demon sways his way towards me; I brace myself for the attack, my feet ready to jump back at any sudden pounce. I hold my tongue in, slightly shaking, even as the demon passes me by without a glance of interest. I furrow my brows, turning back to look at him trying not to fall as he walks away. A heat of embarrassment burns my cheeks. He overlooked me, like I was the _Batman & Robin_ DVD, which I'm positive doesn't exist –new question for Dawn later.

Griping a few curses under my breath, I move towards the bar, my steps trailing off after a second thought. I imagine bodies lying everywhere, Spike's dust underneath a stool chair, guts glued to the walls. I tremble listening to the loud rock music that makes the whole thing creepier, like a lousy thriller movie. I fight my fears, trying to peer inside, but jump back suddenly when a couple walks out laughing. My eyes grow as wide as baseballs. The couple is vampires, pronounced brow ridges and yellow eyes, bursting into unstoppable laughter. I point my stake with both hands at them, ready to protect myself, but they ignore me completely, getting inside a sports car and driving off.

My mouth drops to the floor. How rude! I look at myself, I'm as spiffy as I'd be on a first date.

I walk dejectedly to the door, wiping my brown leather jacket to appear glossier. A gasp escapes my mouth at the scene of the freak show displaying inside. Demons of different species, vampires with bumpy foreheads, dogs with four eyes – whatever you can think of – are filling every inch of the bar. Demons own a bar, drinking beer in a bar, _dancing_ to music in a bar!

I shake my head so hard, pinch my cheek, smack my head with the stake. No, still seeing it. Okay, let's be rational here, this is a costume party, no doubt about that. It's probably an early Halloween party, people can't wait for October.

I flinch when two demons with floppy skin kiss passionately on the dance floor, snake tongues lock in a tight bow and some booger shoots out of their noses. I try to control my heaving chest, thinking that no human can do that. They're definitely demons.

I notice Spike sitting on a stool chair by the counter, drinking from a shot glass. I stumble my way toward him, knocking a few slippery bodies, and pulling my arm free from a sticky one. "Spike!" I yell, sounding a little hysteric.

He glances over his shoulder and curses when he sees me.

"What the hell is this place?" I ask breathlessly, my eyes widening when I notice the bartender's forked tongue.

Spike lets out a frustrated sigh, and then nods to the chair next to him. I sit dazedly, my eyes catching another bartender with two heads.

"Dave," Spike calls Forked Tongue, "The usual for the boy here."

"You're getting me beer?" I exclaim.

Spike casts me a bored look.

I'm obviously annoying him, acting like the teenage idiot that I am. I should start acting more like twenty-year-old Xander, grown up, cool, beer-drinker. It's what attracts Dawn to Spike, doesn't it? The whole nonchalant, confident attitude.

I straighten my back, imitating Spike's casual expression. I take the shot glass, and just like Spike, drink it in one swallow. Then spray it all at the bartenders.

My disgusted expression dissolves into a look of terror when I see one of the demon's head's soaking with my drink.

Spike heaves a sigh, smiling apologetically at the demon. The other head grunts, "His first glass?"

Spike shrugs.

I look at my lap with irritation, my loser self is hurting my adult self's image. I look pointedly at Spike after Two Heads leave. "It's not my first drink, you know."

Spike swallows another shot without answering.

"I just don't drink much, not yet that is."

Spike sets his glass on the counter and shouts for another drink. I snatch Spike's glass and regard his pissed off eyes with an angrier look. "Talk to me, jackass!"

"What the hell do you want?" he asks through clenched teeth.

"I wanna hang out. Two guys doing guy stuff."

"I don't. Go find someone who cares." He grabs his glass from my grip and hands it to the bartender.

"You're not the only one hurting, you know."

Spike stops bringing the glass to his mouth in the middle of the action.

"Just because it hurts so much it doesn't mean you have to act like an asshole to everybody else." I gaze at my hand that Spike had aggressively snatched the glass from. "Especially those who try to help."

There's a pause that lingers a little before Spike sips from his glass quietly.

I try to take advantage of his change of attitude, and quickly say, "So, what do you do on your spare time? Aside from having _Dawson's Creek_ marathons with Dawn." I smirk at him.

Spike rolls his eyes. "I watch soaps. You read cartoon magazines. Which one is the bigger loser?"

"Hey, no need to get defensive. I don't judge."

Spike barks a laugh, hitting the counter twice and leaning back so far I swear he's gonna fall down any second.

His reaction makes me glare. "What's so funny?"

He points a finger at me, saying between gasps of laughter. "You… don't judge… you…"

"I don't. Uh, do I?"

He stops laughing and looks closely at my face, realization settles in his features. "You really don't know."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "A century old vampire knows nothing about amnesia."

"I do. Just never thought about how it's affecting you."

"Well, if you must know, it sucks. Today I went to work knowing nothing about anything. I hurt someone's foot, and another's arm, and I'm pretty sure I ruined someone's shot at having babies."

Spike chuckles low in his throat.

"I'm glad my misery is amusing you." Don't pout. Show your displeasure in a manly way. My lower lip sticks out. Darn it!

Spike hands me a shot glass, his eyes filled with amusement. "Here, have a drink."

I stare at the liquid in my glass. "Drinking my sorrows away. Dad will be so proud."

"Maybe we'll start you off with something less strong."

I'm about to reply before I witness a demon with many eyes walking out of a room in the back accompanied by a demon with scaly skin and a bunch of tentacles that look like dreadlocks. Behind them, a demon with a green face and horns tries not to drop a basket with something moving inside. Another demon with loose skin is holding a bundle of clothes with something unrecognizable sticking out, before the demon covers it in an instant. And… do I hear mewing?

"So, what's this place?"

"A bar?"

"Obviously. Demon bar?" The bartender pours me a glass of beer. I don't remember ordering it; maybe Spike did when I was observing the place a minute ago.

"Mostly, some humans come here occasionally."

"So, what, evil creatures came out to the public? No more secrets?" I take a sip from my beer, my face immediately congesting at the foul taste.

"More like the public have been playing dumb all these years because it's easier to swim in the Nile."

"I was one of the unaware for a long time. I can't believe I've been so stupid my entire life." I can't believe the many glasses Spike already drank of that clearly strong alcoholic beverage. I take a quick look at my full glass of beer, hating the thought of taking another sip.

"When it's not right in front of you, how would you know?"

I shake my head. "I can vaguely remember seeing something weird when I was eight. This colored, thorny something with legs and hands. Willow blamed it on me not drinking milk in the morning, and I thought, she's smart, so she's right. Guess I was another swimmer in De-Nile."

I jump when a green, slippery demon with darker green spots sits right next to me. I eye him warily as he barks an order for a jungle juice. He squares his shoulders, getting comfortable, and then his red eyes cast me a fleeting look. I grin nervously at him. He looks away with disinterest.

I lean closer to Spike, whispering heatedly in his ear. "Why aren't these demons interested in draining me? Does the memory loss make me less human or does it make my blood sour?"

Spike follows my gaze to Green Spots, and then casually returns back to his drink. "Feeding on humans isn't the only thing vampires and demons care about. They've got more interests. Ambitions."

"Ambitions," I repeat indecorously.

"Ending the world for example. It's what Angel wanted to do awhile back, remember?"

"Angel wanted to end the world?" I smack the counter with my fist. Bad move. Ouch. "I knew it! I knew it was all an act!"

"He lost his soul, twit." Spike holds his glass, moving it in circles, and watching as the liquid dances. "Not that it made him a good guy in the first place."

I imitate Spike at once, only I do it clumsily, and the beer slops over the edge. A large wet patch spread out on the counter. I wince, hunching low in my chair when Two Heads starts wiping the counter; his six eyes speaking volumes.

Head downcast, mouth sealed, I wait until the bartender leaves. I glance at Spike, he's trying his hardest not to laugh. I flatten my back, holding my glass, inwardly glad to note how little beer is in there. "How did Buffy react to Evil Angel?" I ask, curious; remembering her warning stare whenever I made a remark about Angel being evil.

"How do you think?"

I twist my lips. That was a dumb question, obviously. "It must have been real hard. Then her mom died, and then she…" my voice wanes, as my heartbeat gets stronger. My fingers clasp the glass and I push the drink down my throat, trying hard not to gag. I slam the empty glass at the counter, forcing my mouth to remain closed. Drinking all that at once was hard, but I managed. As long as I don't have another drink for the night.

"Another beer for the bloke here." I hear Spike call; he sounds proud, which reminds me of my dad. Who would've known drinking a whole glass of beer is something to have pride in?

My gaze drifts to Spike; he's regarding me with eyes flickering with emotions. And there's something else there along with the shared grief; little glimmers of respect.

I take my full glass and raise it towards him. "To Buffy."

Spike doesn't say it, but he does click his glass to mine.

* * *

"An adult bar, huh?" Dawn asks, her head rubbing against mine as we lie on the floor together, watching TRL.

"Yeah, with different types of demons that we're not supposed to kill. It was really disturbing." The VJ filling in for Carson Daily tries to be as charming, if you call Carson Daily charming. Personally, he usually grates on my nerves the few times Buffy forced us to watch him. It was mostly the way she gushed about him. I can feel the same lousy taste in my mouth whenever she commented on his neatly pampered hair. "And hangovers? Worst than I thought." The lousy taste gets lousier by the second.

Dawn pats my shoulder. "Poor Xander."

"I prefer the Bronze any day." A scary thought jumps into my head. "It's still around right? No explosions by mayor snakes?"

"Still there."

Good. The Bronze is safe, a good place to hang out, great bands, prefect dance floor. Visitors are mostly humans. I glance at Dawn who starts to sing along with an N*Sync song. "Say, do you wanna go there tonight?" I lick my dry lips in anticipation.

She turns her blue eyes to me, a little thrown back. "The Bronze?"

I look away, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I…"

"You could buy us beer!"

I return my gaze to her excited expression. "Beer?"

"Yeah, you can use your fake ID. Or not. They say you need to be twenty one to order beer, but then they rely on looks, and you look old enough to buy one regardless of being one year short."

I blink. She didn't say no and she wants beer, definite sign for a 'Yes'. She wants to go out with me. I feel a wide grin breaking into my lips. "So, beer, huh?"

Dawn sits upright, legs crossing, silky hair bouncing. "It'll be fun."

I swallow, still tasting the hangover, but Dawn's happy expression wins over logic. "Guess beer isn't a mix of Whiskey and rum."

"We're drinking beer now?" Willow's angry voice hits my ears, making me sit bolt up as if I'm caught smoking weed. I shrink at her intense glare, and feel as small as a rat when she points behind her with her thumb. "Xander, kitchen."

I bite my lower lip, flicking an uncomfortable glance at Dawn. She gives me an unconvincing reassuring smile. I take a deep breath, pushing myself up.

I find Willow pacing in the kitchen. She reminds me of the day when her mom had caught us eating chips in the living room. Green eyes meet mine, angry as I've never seen them before. "Have you lost your mind?"

"I…"

She throws her hands in the air. "You're gonna buy Dawn beer? She's fifteen." She shakes her head tiredly, placing a hand on the table, holding her weight as the other hand rubs on her forehead. "Look, after Buffy's death I became responsible for Dawn. It's a serious responsibility, do you get it?"

"Gee, Mr. Wilson, lighten up." I jump back at the fuming look she tosses me. "The beer thing wasn't my idea," I admit, hating how I'm viewed as an irresponsible screw up. "I only wanted to take her to the Bronze. We could dance and have some French fries…"

"Like on a date?" Willow concludes with a weird look in her eyes. "You like her?"

I shut my mouth, not trusting how to answer this question.

"You like her?" Willow's disgusted tone mirrored the expression on her face. I lower my gaze; never in my life did I see her looking at me this way. "Xander, that's wrong… it's beyond wrong."

"I don't see it that way," I say softly.

"Ew, stop thinking like that. Dawn is a kid. Never ever think like that. Bad, wrong, repulsive." She lifts my chin, holding my gaze; she appears seriously freaked out. "And what about Anya? You two are together."

It's like I'm splashed with cold water. I completely forgot about Anya. Shit, I promised to swing by the Magic Box yesterday, so we can go out. Something inside squeezes painfully as I remember how excited she was about it.

Willow lets go of my chin, looking satisfied at my guilty expression. "Maybe you should think about how to get closer to Anya."

I nod, ashamed of myself.

"In the meantime, I don't want you alone around Dawn until you sort out those feelings."

My gaze snaps back up at her, the resolve face makes me clamp my jaw closed so I won't say anything to anger her even more.

* * *

"Okay, maybe it's wrong to think of another girl when I already have a girlfriend. And maybe it's not right for me to date a teenage girl anymore, but stopping me from spending time with Dawn? What the hell? It's not like I'm gonna pull Sam the Sham's version of _Little Red Riding Hood_," I rant angrily as I walk along side Spike in the woods. A shot of hot anger is spearing me, thinking of the way Willow talked to me this evening. The disgust and disrespect that had flickered in her features while she talked down at me, like I'm some stupid, immature idiot, just because I've grown interested in Dawn. I can feel fumes coming out of my ears. I get it, Dawn is a kid, I'm not anymore, there's no need for all that disdain.

My mental rant stops shortly when I realize that Spike doesn't reply. My anger is dissipating instantly, leaving me deflated. "You think it's repulsive, too, don't you?"

There's a pause; I feel my throat tightening, waiting for his response. "You're asking the century old vampire who fancied a two decades old girl?"

"Right." A huge jolt of satisfaction bursts inside me at what he said. "I didn't see Willow complaining when Angel was dating Buffy. She used to think it was the biggest romance since Romeo and Juliet. What's her deal now?"

"People make a big deal about age. Makes them forget what's more important." His eyes flicker with emotion, looking ahead. "I think she was disturbed 'cause she knew Dawn when she was collecting Barbie stickers."

"I don't know Dawn. I just met her." I nibble on my lip, and then add, "And she's great."

Glancing at Spike, I curl my lips up at his small smile. "She's Buffy's sister," he says softly.

"She does remind you of Buffy, doesn't she?" Willow didn't think so, I'm glad someone agrees with me on that. "I guess that's why I got attracted," I don't feel that last sentence as I say it, because my eyes, mind, thoughts are all caught by the tombstone in front of me.

BUFFY ANNE SUMMERS  
1981-2001  
BELOVED SISTER  
DEVOTED FRIEND  
SHE SAVED THE WORLD  
A LOT

An onslaught of emotion is surging through me as all words abruptly desert me, I look at Spike speechlessly. His jaw clenches, face shadowed by pain and despair. "Thought you might want to see it."

I return my gaze to Buffy's name crafted on the stone, feeling something tight and painful swell in my chest. Here she is, lying underneath that gravestone, my Buffy, my best friend. I can't help the hand going to my chest where my heart is, clutching my shirt in a tight fist. My breath hitches, my throat locks, I can't move a limp, frozen in front of Buffy's grave.

It never felt as real as it does now, I never fooled myself into thinking that she's alive, but the thought seems to be just sinking. The words written are making it final, Buffy is dead, no longer, deceased.

My knees wobble slightly before giving in; I collapse to the ground, my hands fisting the dry grass for a moment. I start to crawl to the tombstone, my fingers tentatively touch Buffy's name, and in a sudden flash I can see Buffy's smile as clear as a sunny day for a mere second.

A sob escapes. Buffy's dead. My hand falls to the ground again, supporting my waning body. I shake from head to toe, tears dripping as does my bleeding heart. I hurt so bad, my insides are splitting into two halves, can't breathe, can't fucking breathe.

I gasp when I feel Spike's hand on my shoulder, but don't look up, don't want him to see my tears, my pain. His hand slides to my arm and pulls it up lightly, trying to get me to stand up, I'm not sure I want to. I want to stay here, as close to Buffy as I can, don't want to leave her.

"Xander…" his voice low and gentle, I let loose of another sob.

"Unfair," I manage to say difficultly through the lump in my throat.

I can hear his sigh as he crouches next to me, his hand squeezing my arm. "I know."

* * *

The colors in Spike's TV screen change drastically before my eyes, but I'm too numb to see what's on. I can't feel anything but the cold breeze coming in from the open doors, and other than the sudden trembles, I'm completely paralyzed. I try to remind myself that I need to get a good night sleep for work tomorrow, but just the thought of Tony and the my ineptness makes me more demoralized.

Spike had offered to take me home, but I'm not sure I can face Willow or Dawn after what had happened today. I don't feel like having another fight with Willow, not that it's a definite. But the look she had given me, the disgust, I can't handle another disappointed stare from Willow.

I feel Spike's body press against my shoulder as he sits on the arm of the chair, placing a bottle of something alcoholic before me. "Good episode," he comments on the show on TV.

I try to focus my dull eyes at what's going on in the screen, but the sharp pain in my heart set blinders on my vision. All I want to do is sit and mope, worry about nothing but mourning Buffy with my silent, motionless state.

I hear Spike gulping the alcohol in his bottle without taking a breath - not that he needs it. Soon, he sets his empty bottle on the table.

"Ain't gonna open yours?"

I gaze at the bottle of JD in front of me, and wonder if it'll stop the sharp pain from peeling my heart to pieces. "Not sure about this after the terrible hangover from yesterday."

Spike takes the bottle and I can hear the click of the cover as he opens it. Instinctively, I grab the bottle from his hand just as he's about to drink it all with one swallow. "On second thought, maybe I should get used to it. I'm an adult now."

He curls his lips in displeasure. "Suit yourself."

I bring the rim of the bottle to my mouth while watching him walk to a hole in the middle of the crypt and casually slide down. Too intrigued by what's under there, I try to shut the bottle with the ruined cover, then eventually settle for holding the cover on with my finger. I walk to the hole, finding a wooden ladder; guess Spike is too cool to climb down like a regular person. Okay, time to stop the petty jealousy, I'm not supposed to like Dawn that way, so it doesn't matter if she found Spike cooler than me. Besides, Spike isn't a regular person.

With a weary sigh, I hold my bottle to my chest, and use one hand to go down the ladder to the underground. I decide against imitating Spike – already learned that trying to imitate vampires lead to painful headaches.

Oriental rugs are all over the place with a couple thousand candles giving an extra eerie vibe to the skulls and bones that dominate the room. A vampire bedroom in its right.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Spike barks when he notices me in his bedroom, his hand grabbing a bottle of whatever from the shelf.

"Checking out the place." I walk around the room, frowning at a wall that's covered by a sheet. I pull it aside and start when I'm face to face with a blonde mannequin. Behind it, a bunch of human skulls are placed on top of a small table, looking worryingly happy.

"And you call yourselves the white hats. Manners are lost on you lot," Spike grumbles, taking the sheet and covering the mannequin up again.

"Why the hell do you have a dummy here? Is there something I don't need to know?"

He narrows his eyes at my smirk, then his gaze trails down to my bottle. "So, what, you decided not to drink that?"

I withdraw it away from him protectively. "I will. When the time is right."

Spike gives an amused lopsided smile.

"It's just… Jack Daniels'... it's…"

"A man' drink?" It's his turn to smirk, and man, how he perfects it.

"Then why are you drinking it?" I retort.

Spike purses his lips, and then saunters to where he left his new bottle. "Tell you what, how about a contest?" He holds up the bottle to my face.

I lick my lips anxiously. "Contest?"

"We drink 'til the last drop, see which man is standing."

Something tightens in my chest, suddenly I flash back to the time Larry stole my lunch and then challenged me with hand wrestling to get it back. "That won't be fair. First, you're a vampire. Second, yesterday's beer almost sent me bonkers."

Spike leans against the wall, the tip of his finger drawing lazy circles on the cover of his bottle. "Poor little mite, knew you'll chicken out of this."

"When did this whole thing turn into a manly showdown? I thought we're here to grieve."

"And that's what's it about. Unless you wanna do it the traditional way, ala Angel." He gives me a pointed look, walking past me to the ladder.

"Wait." I throw myself on a cool-looking red circular lounging chair, flinging the bottle's cover over my shoulder. I start gulping all the JD with one swallow, trying to ignore the stinking taste as the liquid travels from the bottle to my throat. After the last drop, I toss the bottle away, and smack my lips together.

"Hallaloya," I roar like the man I am, proving my masculinity to Spike. I force my tongue to run along my lips for extra macho points.

"Game is on," Spike says, satisfied, and tosses me another bottle while he finishes his off.

I stare at the Whiskey in my hand, knowing that I'll be getting a gigantic hangover tomorrow, which I can deal with –with a bit of luck- because right now, I'm being a man. I start drinking with no regrets, knowing that other than the hangover; nothing worse is going to happen.

* * *

I groan awake, not shocked at all to feel the expected banging in my head. Fuck, I did it again; I played with your heart, got lost –eh, damn you Dawn and your stupid Christina obsession, or is it Mandy Moore? Man, the list of bubbly girly lip-sinking pop princesses Dawn worships, not forgetting the good-looking boybands with striking curly hair and matching outfits. Just thinking about that candy song is tearing up my head, it'll never stop, I want it gone! Bye, bye, bye! Shit, get out of my head Justin Timberlake!

Okay, I'm officially wasted.

I try to stretch, but the weight on top of me limits my ability to move. I feel battered flesh on top of my… flesh. I put a pause on my rolling thoughts as I hear the music of doom. I'm naked, and the person above me is naked, too. I'm naked in a bed with a naked person on top of me. My mind tries to work that puzzle through the headache and the N*Sync song I can't get to stop jamming in my head. I'm back to my apartment? I had sex with Anya? We're finally working things out? A heavy ball of anxiousness is on the edge of my chest, ready to drop any second when I can't feel Anya's round boobies on my back. The ball finally crashes like a bomb when instead of the boobs I feel something lengthy sticking to my ass, and it's flesh!

My eyes snap open and I hold a shriek inside my mouth when the blonde wigged mannequin is staring right at my face.

Spike's sex dummy!

With slow motion, I turn my head as far as I can to see who's lying on top of me. My gaze meets stripes of gelled bleached head. I roll over from underneath Spike and fall to the floor. I jump up from the floor, mouth hanging open, eyes unable to look past Spike's white, hairless, naked butt.

My hands clasp on my mouth, blocking any loud, petrified noises. My eyes so wide they almost bulge out of their sockets. Spike's naked form is as still as a dead body, which means he's a heavy sleeper after a night of heavy drinking. I smack my head numerous of times, cursing inwardly. Learning nothing from my household, heavy drinking leads to badness, just check the scars on my butt cheeks.

My heart sinks to my guts. Spike saw the scars, he probably thought I was into spanking, he probably SPANKED me!

A strangled whimper escapes my mouth, which is still so widely open my jaw is starting to itch. I clamp my mouth shut and begin running around in circles, slapping my cheeks repeatedly in panic. My foot bangs against the foot of the bed. I let out a sharp cry of pain, holding my sore foot and hopping in the same circles on my fine foot. I freeze when Spike grunts; he turns to the other side, and then settles into deep sleep.

I release an inner sigh of relief, then quickly start searching for my clothes. I find my pants on the red chair, my shirt in the corner, my shoes next to the bed, my undershirt on Spike's cool lamp. I can't seem to find my boxers. My head snaps from left to right nervously that I start searching under the rugs. I kneel before Spike's bed, searching under it, and as I raise my head in disappointment, my mouth drops open again when I find my Stewie boxers under Spike's waist. They have wet spots on them and I stop my brain from speculating any further.

I stand up, an arm crossing my chest, and my hand covers my mouth as I stare pitifully at it. Eventually, I lean forwards, my face congested as I lift Spike's fleshy length with the tips of my fingers and pull the boxers out as slowly as possible. When they're safely held against my chest, I drop the penis and wipe my fingers on the bed sheets. I touched Spike's thing! I shudder, grossed out.

I gather my clothes and run to the ladder. The first push upwards is met with agonizing pain in my head, and I fall to the floor. Fretfully, I check on Spike. He's still asleep. Phew.

I start climbing the ladder until I'm in the first floor, and then quickly stumble to the door with the bundle of my clothes. I stop abruptly, drop the clothes, then start getting dressed. It won't do me good walking down the streets with my scarred bottom jiggling for all to see.

I quickly get out of the crypt, running as far away as possible. The hangover is killing me, but not as much as the image of naked Spike spread on top of me with his peewee inside my ass. I shake my hands with disgust as I scuttle in the middle of the cemented road, my ewws outnumbering Harmony's when Jonathan accidentally walked in front of the Cordettes' table. I can feel the stiffness in my thighs, the soreness in my ass, can smell the scent of something I'll pretend is Spike's stolen perfume just for my sanity. And why the hell was I bottom-boy? I'm bigger, I'm stronger – given Spike's inability to hurt me with his chip – I'm _alive_! Vampires can't possibly get an erection, most of the vampire novels state vampires can't mate. It should've been me tapping Spike's behind!

I shake my head, clearing it from all the images of Spike spreading his butt cheeks for me. No! Forget Spike, forget gay sex, forget Spike's bed, his blonde dummy, his rugs, forget his crypt, his cemetery, his street. No more thoughts on this.

My brain betrays me when I flashback to Spike's cheap TV with its lousy screen. Books, records, chest, candles, nightstand with a lamp, fridge with graphics, crates, armchair… and Spike, his naked body draped on top of mine, soundlessly asleep.

Guh! Stop thinking about this! Good thing I didn't find any whips or butt plugs, the whole thing is too disturbing already and sex toys would have definitely sent me to my grave.

Sex toys suddenly remind me of Anya. I slow down my speed from running to walking, and then stop in my tracks. What's it gonna do to my already shaky relationship with Anya? I've only met her a couple of days ago and I've already managed to put a strain on our relationship, this whole thing with Spike will be the end of the best thing going for me in my entire life.

I take a long shuddering breath, and begin walking again, this time with my head hanging with misery. What am I supposed to do? How will I fix this? Would Spike remember? Of course, he would, that big dose of alcohol was probably like a sip of beer for him.

My head stings and all I need now is a cup of coffee and a good three-hour sleep in a _single_ bed. A strange feeling of familiarity hits me and I lift my head up. Eyes widening, I feel my mouth opening and closing then opening again, my lips tremble as my heart skips a beat.

My house hasn't changed at all in the last four years.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

I heave a sigh as I stand in front the Summers' house, raising dull eyes at the door, unable to bring myself to go in. I feel detached and jaded with a hint of nausea - damn that JD! I wish I'd gone inside my house but I was too scared. I know for a fact that my room is either filled with boxes, gym equipments or beer sacks: those guys will never have kept it as it is. My dad probably kicked me out after high school was over or likely at my eighteenth birthday. We probably never saw each other again. I don't really have the courage to ask anyone about it, though.

I lean against the door, my forehead making a little thump. I close my burning eyes and hold in another weary sigh. I went all the way with Spike. I did some sort of monkey love sex with a _male_ vampire. I'm losing it. It doesn't matter if Spike is my best friend; he's still a vampire and a _guy_. I don't do sex with guys, at least I didn't think I did. A terrifying thought creeps inside my head: what if I'm gay in disguise? What if Spike and I are gay friends with benefits? Obviously, I'm not happy with Anya, so I get my jollies somewhere else.

I never thought I'd be one of the cheating types, but apparently I am judging by how Anya came to my life. But, in the life I know, I used to focus on getting the girl and nothing else. The whole dating and boyfriend-girlfriend thing? No one gave me a chance to get that far. Ampata doesn't count. Who would've thought I'd cheat on my fiancée, who just happens to be an ex-demon with a long history of cursing unfaithful men? She probably has a long line of vengeful demon friends who are happy to lend a curse on her gay, cheater of a soon-to-be-husband. Did I commit adultery? I mean, we're engaged, that's as commitment-y as marriage. Why the hell did I ask her to marry me if I didn't love her? Why the hell did I ask her to marry me, period? I'm only twenty for God's sake.

And since I'm rolling with the whys and hells, why the hell did I date a girl like that in the first place? Someone who curses men? Was I that desperate? Or was I hiding from the truth? I probably jumped into marriage because I was scared about my new-found kinky feelings for Spike.

I groan, pushing the door open. No reason to think about it now, I should get some sleep. No, I can't sleep. I have to go to work. Great. I drag my legs to the kitchen, my dry throat begging for a cold glass of water.

I stop short at the sight before me. Willow. Sitting by the end of the table. Her fingers clicking on her laptop's keyboard. She looks so focused on what she's doing she doesn't notice me standing by the door.

A smile blossoms on my lips, and I slump back against the entrance frame, just staring at her.

She types for a whole fifteen seconds before she grunts a disappointed, "No."

I walk towards her, my grin getting bigger. "What?"

She startles, looking up at me. "Oh, Xander. You're here."

I rest my hand on the table and lean forward to take a look at the laptop screen. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, uh…" Willow tentatively reaches for her laptop about to shut the screen, but then decides against it. "Guess I can tell you." She looks at me, her face serious and hesitant at the same time.

I frown, knowing at first hand that I'm not going to like what I'm going to hear. "What is it?"

She glances at her laptop. "I'm trying to find this urn. Anya promised to look it up, but then with you being attacked and the whole loss of memory thing…"

I nod quickly for her to get to the point without stalling. "Yeah, so what's this urn for?"

She locks eyes with me, a heavy silence creeps into the room, and I can feel myself getting paranoid. "To bring Buffy back."

With unblinking eyes, I stare right back at her. A sudden feeling of nausea from hangover attacks me. I withdraw and rub my forehead. "I don't think I heard right. Are you saying…"

"We're gonna bring Buffy back," she repeats straightforwardly.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling a piercing headache and rub my forehead more. "Buffy. Our Buffy?"

She rolls her eyes. "Do you know any other Buffy?"

"Buffybot," I say weakly.

"Are you okay?" She stands up, touching my head lightly. I jerk away from her touch with no control of my actions. The hurt in her expression melts into determination. "Look, I know it's out there…"

"Out there?" I snap, ignoring the sharp pierce in my temples. "How about impossible? Unworkable. Hopeless. No way."

"Did you swallow a Thesaurus?" Willow retorts, then straightens, releasing a sigh. "Nothing's impossible when you're a witch."

I scoff. "You know a witch?"

"Xander," she says, bewildered. "I am the witch."

"You are," I say indecorously.

Her eyebrows furrow. "Yeah, haven't we mentioned that?"

I hold up my hands, the action increased the sharpness of my headache. "Wait, you're a witch? Like Amy's mother?"

"Amy is a witch, too."

"She is?" I ask, taken aback. Then think about it. That actually makes sense. "Guess it's like mother like daughter." I tense, looking at her like I'm seeing her for the first time. "Since when?"

"Since… forever." She looks as uncomfortable as she did when she came out to me. "Tara is a witch, too."

A bullet of anger and detestation shoots inside me, and suddenly everything makes sense. "Oh. Tara."

"So, Xander, are you in?"

I'm reeling, my mind going with different scenarios, each one driving my head to the wall. I'm so angry my chest is starting to hurt, my hand is grabbing so tightly on the table I think I'm going to break it. So mad, I barely hear what Willow is saying, only hearing the last bit. "In?"

With an impatient huff, she says, "Bringing Buffy back. Will you help?"

My insides are exploding, and my blood pressure is probably so high I think I may get a stroke. "By playing god? No."

"Xander…"

"Willow, this whole thing feels wrong. It's wrong. It's dead-bent wrong. Barb Wire wrong. When people are dead, it's final. Unless they become vampires or mummies or possibly zombies – did we fight zombies?"

Willow nods.

"Damn, what's next? Evil fairies?"

"Resurrection," Willow stresses. "That's what's next."

I shake my head. "No."

Willow stands up, obviously irritated. "What do you mean 'no'?"

"I mean it like I say it. This whole thing sounds bizarre and again with the wrong. What did Giles say about this?"

"He doesn't know," she splutters, knowing as she says the words that I'll make a big deal about it.

And I do. "So, you're doing this behind his back? You and _Tara_?"

She jerks a finger at me. "You and Anya agreed to it."

"I didn't!"

"Yes, you did. Old-you did anyway."

Stunned, I feel myself shaking my head in refutation. "I'd never…"

"Xander," she cuts me off, grabbing my shoulders with her hands, her eyes looking at me with sheer desperation. "Buffy could be in danger."

I push her hands away from my shoulders aggressively. "How could she be in danger? She's dead. My bet is she's having a cuppa with Princess Diana and Queen Victoria this exact second."

"She went into a portal of a hell dimension."

"But her body is here. It's buried under the ground. Spike took me to see her grave."

"Her essence…"

I hold my hands up again, but this time I want her to stop talking completely. "You know what, forget it. I'm having my second hangover and I need to get to work. I've no time for this." I head to the door, thinking of a quick shower and maybe a cup of coffee from the espresso pump.

"Xander." I turn around and freeze at the look in Willow's expressionless face. "We're bringing Buffy back. That's final."

I get a hollow feeling in my stomach, realizing that for the first time in my whole life I'm actually scared of Willow.

* * *

I shove my hardhat on my wet head, not bothering to comb my hair; it's too short anyway. I slip in my jacket and grab my suitcase, storming out of the room so quickly I almost slammed against the half open door. Still, I manage to slam against somebody in my huffy speed. An apology about to fly out of my mouth before I take a good look at the person I almost ran over.

"Are you all right?" Tara asks with her usual nice, polite manner. She's clutching a couple of huge books to her chest, which makes me wonder if college started already. We're still in August.

"No," I grumble the answer, keeping murderous emotions deep inside, not letting them near the surface.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure? You look upset." The fake concern in her voice does the trick. My emotions are rising as does the boiling blood inside of me. All tries to will my anger down are crashing and all I can feel is pure detestation and fury.

"The matter is YOU!" It's like a tiger jumping out of my mouth, that's how strong my roar was. I wanna strangle her. I wanna smash her to pieces. I wanna rip her heart out. I _hate_ her!

She's completely thrown back by my snap, her lips tremble slightly. "M-me?"

"What the hell did you do to her, you _witch_?"

"I-I d-don't und-d..."

I grab her by the shoulders, my fingers digging into them as I shake her so hard her blonde hair is starting to bounce off. I can feel her large books dropping on my feet, the pain doesn't compare to the agony ripping my heart to pieces. "Bring her back! Whatever spell you put on her, take it back!"

She pleads with a pathetic, sobbing voice. "Xander, s-stop!"

My fingers dig more, my shakes grow stronger and faster; the more she screams the more my shakes increase.

"Let her go."

An inexorable force peels Tara out of my strong grip, leaving me with throbbing fingers. Shocked, I watch Tara falling to the floor and swerve to see Willow standing by the end of the hall. My feet take a step back just as a sharp gasp escapes my mouth. Willow's eyes are pitch black, her face as blank as an empty page.

"Fucking holy shit, who the hell are you?" I shout, feeling the world around me crumbling down, leaving nothing but the mysterious, creepy woman I used to refer to as my childhood, best friend.

For some reason my throat seems to have a lump in it. My gaze mechanically drops to Tara as my mouth is about to lash out more accusations, but then I'm caught by the tear streaks in Tara's cheeks, her scared features regarding me with fright and distress. Something in my heart squeezes at what I'm seeing, and in the deepest hollow of my guts I realize I had just acted exactly like my old man.

I choke on my breath, my hand trembling towards Tara in an attempt to help her up. She withdraws fearfully and suddenly all the air is knocked out of me in a painful whoosh, as I feel myself flying back and smacking against the wall. I grunt, lifting my eyes, gasping again when I find myself at the same eye level as Willow's, who crouches before me. Blackness stares me down, sending trimmers of fear down my spine.

"If you come near her again, I'll rip those fingers off," her low, dangerous voice rings like funeral bills in my ears.

"This is a nightmare," I screech with an edge of panic. "Soon I'll be lying in my own room. None of this is real."

"Oh, honey, the only unreal thing here is you. You don't belong in this timeline. You belong in high school where you can slack around waiting for me to bail your lazy ass out."

"Willow…" I croak.

She stands up, her eyes returning to their green color. "Get up. Go to work. For once in your life, act like a grown up."

I push myself up to my feet, not daring to cast a fleeting look at Tara. I take my suitcase, and start walking. Feeling my head, I realize that my hardhat had fallen when Willow smacked me to the wall, but I can't bring myself to look back let alone going back and putting it on.

* * *

Work was a complete disaster today. The suggestions I gave were met with gales of mocking laughter from everybody at the site. Not to mention the disapproving, intolerant head shakes from Tony. I've managed to tear down all the respect and admiration I've been building over the years –which were only one year, _which_ makes it even worse seeing how incredible that is. Everybody seems to forget my jock-self, nicknames were invented today, said behind my back for now, but soon enough I'm gonna lose everybody's respect. The offensive nicknames will be flying through the air like religious jokes. It's like high school all over again. I'm back to being the idiot loser, and it has only been three days since I returned to work.

Now, my day is complete with Anya scolding me for forgetting our date last night. I don't really hear much of what she says, too upset about work to care. I can't believe I dropped another girder today, and this time it hurt my own boss. But I swear that wasn't my fault. Tony's expressionless face mirrored Willow's this morning, if perhaps less scary. Just the reminder of what had happened with Willow earlier made me not focus, hence the dropping of the girder.

I feel cold all over, unable to hear anything around me, everything fades to the background as I picture Willow's black eyes boring into my soul. The girl whose hair I used to braid, exchange lunch with, laugh at Cordelia's antics with is threatening to kill me now.

"Xander!" Anya's voice jolts me out of my thoughts. "Focus!"

I look up at Anya from where I'm sitting, worn out by misery and exhaustion. She's too upset about a small date in a fast-food joint, how will she react if she knew I'd cheated on her with _Spike_ of all people?

Anya flails her arms, frustrated. "We can't go on like this, Xander."

I remain silent, not sure if anything I say will make her less mad.

She collapses on a chair next to mine, her face buried in her hand, looking so defeated that my hand closes into a fist ready to punch my nose hard enough to bleed. She was planning on taking me to Burger King because she knew I prefer junk food over a high quality meal in a fancy restaurant. She was sacrificing fancy dinner in a romantic place to _save_ our relationship.

"How about we go on another date?" I venture, my tight fist loosening when she raises her surprised yet hopeful eyes at me.

"Really?"

I turn my stare to some jar with a picture of frog legs on it. "I know I haven't been trying hard to find the connection, I'm still trying to get the memories back, you know." The jar is titled 'Restoring Romance', my head whips back to Anya, my face a picture of alarm.

Anya rests her hands on the table, clasping them together, and giving a positive shrug. "Getting our relationship back may help."

"Yeah, probably." My gaze is on the counter, searching for frog legs or a Puck. Maybe I should reconsider sleeping tonight.

"So, tomorrow?"

Her question snaps me back from sprinkling magic love drops. "What?"

"The other date," Anya repeats tartly.

"Oh. Right."

"Fancy restaurant."

"You betcha."

"And you're making reservations."

"Of course. I'll also pay."

Anya bursts laughing. "You thought I was gonna pay for yesterday's dinner?"

"Of course not." I'm not sure what I just said as I just notice Spike standing outside the Magic Box, smirking at me with an evil glint in his eye. A cigarette is sticking out of his mouth with smoke rising in the air. He crooks a finger and motions me to get out.

Outside? With Anya nearby? He's gone insane. There's no way we're bonking so close to my ultimate death. Not to mention getting naked in a public area with people passing by, it's still early at night, children are most likely out with their parents. I can't be the cause of ruining the innocence of my hometown's offspring!

I shake my head at Spike, thinking of the poor children.

He holds a thumb up into his mouth and then flicks it outward at me. I don't get the meaning behind that, but I'm guessing it's not good. It's probably a sex thing.

Shit, things were going so well with Spike, he's the only person I can stand that I'm not forbidden to hang out with, and JD has to ruin it for me. Okay, let's be logical here. Spike can't force me to have sex with him, hello, chip. He's probably out there to discuss it, swear to never mention it again, and then pretend it's part of those four years I had forgotten.

I rise to my feet nervously, hands rubbing on my baggy pants. "Um, okay, Anya, see you tomorrow then."

Spike smirks in satisfaction and then steps away from the window. My heart starts to race, this morning springs to my mind; waking up naked under naked Spike. I'm not sure what to say to him. I'm not into guys; it was the great dose of booze. The fact that my body didn't explode shows that adult me is used to drinking that great amount of different strong drinks, which my apartment _doesn't_ have. So, obviously, I used to drink a lot at Spike's and we'd always end up unconscious and naked after a night of boogly moogly sexcapade.

When I start moving to the door, I feel a tug on my arm. Anya gives me her tenth exasperated look for the day and points a finger to her full, glossed lips. I plant a chaste kiss on them before racing to the door.

"Xander!"

I stop on my tracks, looking at Anya with occasional awkward glances at the window.

"Which restaurant?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow." As I talk to her, my feet are taking a few more steps to the door, feeling comforted once I hear its bell announcing my exit.

Outside the Magic Box, I release a sigh of relief that turns into a gasp of fright when Spike stands in front of me in a flash.

"Trouble in paradise?" He spits his cigarette, not bothering to grind it, so I do it for him. He offhandedly takes another one and lights it.

"What are you doing here?" I hiss, cringing at the rank smell.

"It's night. Demon haunting escapade awaits."

"Sexcapade?" I screech.

He blows more smoke. "No club tonight, mate. We're off to find your demon."

"Oh." I'm a little disturbed by the disappointment I'm feeling. I should be relieved he doesn't remember; it'll make it easier for me to block that memory, gives me more chances to fix my relationship with Anya. Not to mention, demon-hunting means me getting my memories back. That should be the first priority on the list.

My thoughts break off when Spike blows a puff of his disgusting smoke in my face. I hear him ask between my coughs, "You want to go drinking?"

I cough. Clear my throat. "Uh, no drinking for this fellow tonight."

"Fine then." Spike turns around, his duster swerves around him before fluttering in the breeze as he walks away. I stare in awe; it's like watching Batman disappear into the night. I slap the back of my head; if he's Batman then I'm Robin, which, no, big on the no. But, I was bottom. Robin is obviously bottom.

I hang my head and follow Batman with dismay.

I find him already on his motorcycle; I resist another desire to slap my head as I hurry back to my car. What, thought you were going to walk to the cemeteries with cars and motorcycles around? Walking died with high school, it's adult me with a vehicle.

"Xander," Spike's shout stops me. He gestures with his chin to the seat behind him. "Hop on."

"With you? On your bike?" Less drool, and more cool, moron!

"You coming or I take off?"

"Coming!" I stagger eagerly toward him, pushing away all thoughts about sabotaging my respectful image.

He brings a red helmet to my vision and suddenly everything Dawn said about cool helmet-less Spike is rushing to my head. I shake my head, waving off his offer. He doesn't persist, returning the helmet to its place, and waits for me to sit.

I lift a leg over the seat. Too excited, I sway a little, about to fall, then grab Spike's arm for balance. Spike stares at my hand gripping his arm, and with a wave of embarrassment I let go, falling straight on my butt. Spike shakes his head and starts drumming his fingers on the handle.

I glare for a moment then mount the motorcycle more carefully, settling in the seat behind Spike. I sit there awkwardly, not sure if he'd like it if I hold onto him, but knowing if I don't I'll be flying off the bike the second it moves.

"Hold on, you daft git!" he snaps at me over his shoulder intolerantly. "Were you born this dense?"

I feel a sting inside, hating how many times someone had directed this question at me. My gaze is firmly fixed on my fingers clutching the seat, desperately trying to keep my body back as far as possible from touching Spike's. "Slow. According to some tests." I bite my lips the second the words left my mouth. Slow? More like retarded.

The pause surprises me; I expected a few ridiculing remarks at my impulsive confession. Instead, Spike shifts his weight back, closer to me, and starts the engine. Without looking at me, he barks, "Hold on!"

I quickly slide my arms around his waist, feeling the vibrations of the engine between my thighs. I cling to him when the bike speeds away, regretting my decision to not wear a helmet. Any second now I'm sure I'll drop off of the motorcycle and smash my head on something hard.

"So, you traded your car for this?" I ask, thinking an ongoing conversation will be better than silence. I think about how I phrased my question and hurry to amend, "Not that it's not worth it. I'd take a motorcycle over a car any time." Liar.

"Who told you I traded it?"

"Dawn."

"Oh. Right."

The wind blows past me as the streetlamps lining down the street rush by. I'm having an urge to throw my arms up in the air and scream on the top of my lungs, "I'm alive!" But then, Spike rounds a corner, and I hold onto him rigidly.

"You lied to Dawn?" I squeak aloud, my fingers digging into Spike's shirt due to my death grip.

"Couldn't tell her I stole it, now could I?"

"What about your car?"

"Sold it. It's how I bought the TV."

"You're full of surprises, Spike."

"And you're full of useless talk."

I shut up with a pout.

His motorcycle takes a drastic turn to the left and my grip tightens reflexively, my eyes clenching shut as I anticipate crashing. We don't crash but I keep my eyes closed, feeling the wind whipping past my face, Spike's hard back pressing against my chest. My hands are feeling the cut muscles of Spike's abs and blood pools at my groin, making my length harden and rise.

Alarmed, my eyes snap open as my hands release their hold on Spike and I feel the wind carrying me off the motorcycle. I yelp, smacking against the ground forcefully. I grunt painfully as pain shoots down my spine and ends at my feet. Deep within me I'm afraid that I've broken something in the fall.

I hear someone clearing their throat above me.

Risking opening one eye, I meet Spike's bored gaze.

"They didn't lie in that test, I see."

I snap my eye shut and groan

* * *

"I'm gonna lose my ability to walk soon. There might be a permanent damage. They'll probably cut my leg off. It's probably gangrene!"

"Oh, shut your gob!"

Spike kicks the doors to his crypt open, dragging my weight inside. I groan when I see the wooden door is closed, and shift the arm draped over Spike's shoulder in displeasure. "I still don't get this whole two doors thing."

"Didn't build this rot." Spike kicks the second door open as well and pulls me in urgently. He's still upset about leaving his precious motorcycle out there for anyone to steal. As well as the part about half-carrying me to his crypt.

"You know, if you let me take my car, we'd be at the hospital by now."

"You were salivating to get on my hog."

"You suggested it."

He drops me on the couch roughly, and like electricity, pain shoots through my body. I let out an angry, pained cry, and glower at the jerk. He comes back indifferently with some gauze and a glass of water. I should buy him a First Aid Kit, he may never use it but I know this won't be the last time he'll be dragging my conked out body to his crypt.

Spike tosses the gauze on the floor and sets the glass of water on a table. He crouches in front of me and starts _poking_ at my shoulder.

"Hey!" I jerk away from him. "Do it gently."

He rolls his eyes, but he does press lightly on it.

"What is it? Is it broken?"

"It's just dislocated, twit. Hold still."

He positions his hand on my shoulder and presses the other against my chest. I hear a sound like snapping a branch, and I yelp with hysteria.

Spike wipes his hands. "There. Wrenched back into place."

"What about my leg?" I blurt out, dreading the answer. The pain is incredible, my skin is burning, and I don't want to think about the bones.

"You scrapped your right calf. Looks like road rash," Spike says after he's examined it.

"That's it?"

He glances up at me with a scorned chuckle. "Yeah, you wuss."

"Hey, watch it!" I observe my leg, still believing that it's broken. "I'm not a scaredy-cat. I'm just… cautious… about my body. Don't want it to get hurt."

"Still, wuss." He starts to wrap my leg up, and by wrap I'm talking cutting my blood circulation. He's so in need of a course in First Aid Care. "Wonder what demon girl sees in you."

"She sees plenty, thank you very much." I wince at his rough handling.

Spike scoffs.

"Hey, at least I have a girlfriend. Unlike you. Buffy didn't look twice at you."

Spike throws me a heated stare and purposely tugs the gauze sharply around my leg, tying it in the tightest knot ever.

I try not to flinch, refusing to give him that satisfaction. Instead I attempt to annoy him by closing my fist and pumping my arm up and down, exclaiming, "Xander strikes!"

Spike hops to his feet, fed up, and goes straight to his hole.

"Another alcohol contest?" I whine, but panic on the inside. What if he's trying to get me drunk again? That innuendo about his hog didn't go past me. There's no way I'm going to be persuade into another bang. Not even if I'm the one doing the banging this time.

Spike turns around, smirking at me. "There was no alcohol contest to begin with."

My brows meet in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is those JD and Whiskey bottles were filled with beer. That's all you drank yesterday." More emphasis on the smirk. "What's left of the Whiskey was only for me."

"Beer? It was just beer?"

Spike brings out his cigarette pack and gives a one shoulder shrug. "Didn't need you winding up dead, now did I?"

Everything makes sense now: I wondered why my hangover wasn't mind-bogglingly menacing. I only drank beer, because Spike replaced the strong drinks with something I can handle. "Aw, you care." I flutter my eyelashes to annoy him.

He blows clouds of smoke in the air. "I don't. Did it 'cause I don't want your little witch friend on my heels."

"I know. Willow is different now. Scary different." And I'm flashing back to this scary morning with Willow again. When she said she was going to resurrect Buffy I thought she wouldn't be able to pull it off, but seeing her go blackadapra on me made it more real. Willow is taking this whole witch thing to a whole new level, and since when was she into witchcraft? This is probably similar to the hyena possession, some lesbian witch is taking over Willow's body and my sweet, bashful best friend is sitting helplessly in the backseat. I just can't wrap my mind around the idea of Willow becoming this completely different person with nothing left of the girl I know.

"Spike, if you ever…" I imagine us in front of Buffy's grave saying hexes boxes words, faces painted like Native Americans, and doing the dance of life. "Had the chance…" White light goes through the tombstone then manifests into Buffy, wearing white, hair shining gold, and eyes so bright. We grin in triumph, hug each other, and then bow before Willow's goddessness. "If you have the chance to…" Buffy's face loses its angelic façade and we're greeted with the devil face, shooting angry fire from its mouth, and we burn into nothingness.

I snap out of my vivid imagination and then rivet my gaze on Spike. He's staring at me with amusement, a couple of cigarettes are stomped on next to his feet.

"Would you bring Buffy back?" I blurt out, and then add, "If you could?"

"Back from what?"

"Huh?"

"Back from what? Hell? Heaven? Shrimp universe?"

"Uh… hell."

"Why would she be in hell?"

"She just is."

"You'd think a hero who sacrificed her life for the world would go straight to paradise."

"I don't know why she's in hell, Spike," I say, irritated. "Just answer the freaking question."

"If she's in hell, then as you kids say, duh!" Blowing another dose of smoke, Spike starts to really think about the question. "But I have to make sure she is there first. Don't want to rip her out of heaven by mistake."

"Would you? Make sure she's there," I ask him desperately. Willow's words about Buffy falling in a portal leading to a demon dimension have me worried. What if the whole essence thing is right? After all, death means the soul leaving the body. If Buffy's soul is trapped in some kind of hell and I refused to get it out, then I'll never forgive myself. I don't want to live with that torment my whole life, I need to make sure Buffy is all right.

Spike releases the cigarette from his fingers and stomps on it with his foot, his eyes not leaving me. "Is there something you want to tell me?"

I look at my wrapped up leg. I wasn't that subtle and Spike isn't an idiot. "Willow. She's planning on bringing Buffy back from the dead."

Spike doesn't look surprised. "She is now?"

"Don't tell anyone. I can handle Willow. She can't do it without my help."

"Typical of her," Spike sneers. "Trying to control everything she can."

"She wasn't like that before." Flickers of old Willow rush into my head; her innocent smile, her nervous, breathy way of talking, her longing stares only directed at me as I played oblivious. I wonder if my ignorance led her to change her whole personality. "The now is nothing like the before. Everything went kaboom. I still don't believe I'm in the same reality."

"Bit boring if everything is the same."

"I want it to be." I meet his gaze, mine filled with distress. "Everything. Even the boring classes at school. Never appreciated them until now. Research at the library, night strolls in the cemetery with Buffy, Buffy herself." I feel a smile blossoming in my lips as I lose myself in memory lane. "The way she flings her school bag on her shoulder, holding a couple of books to her chest, how she combs her short hair with her fingers, how she looks better without the sunglasses, even frat the fart Tom thought so." Suddenly, I'm all angry and humiliated on the inside, can't quite get past that stupid night at the frat house. All those jerks laughing at me and like the doormat I am I'd done exactly as they said.

"You had feelings for her," Spike's soft spoken words don't manage to lessen the resentment roaring inside of me, but I'm glad for the distraction.

"Still do," I admit. "Older me probably moved on, but me? Still into her."

Spike lights another cigarette and looks on at me with interest. "Anya?"

"I just met her. And so far… we don't click. She's mostly giving me the creeps," I release a nervous laugh, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Spike raises an eyebrow at what I said, his cigarette dangling from his lip. We're close, as Dawn said, we probably tell each other everything, yet I'm not so sure. After a short pause, I decide to share, "I can't… I can't stop thinking that… I don't… that I settled for Anya. Because I couldn't get Buffy's attention."

Spike gives a long, slow exhalation of smoke, eyes half closed, staring ahead. "Only bloke on her mind was Angel. Couldn't nudge that sap out of her head."

"It's just… he's always quiet, you know. I mean five seconds with that guy and I'm bored to tears. What do you think they talk about when they're alone?"

"He'd be whining about his bloody soul and she'd comfort him by quoting one of Browning's sonnets."

"Or one of those crappy romance scenes from your cheesy soaps."

A smile breaks into his lips. "Most likely."

I can't help grinning myself. For a long time I wanted a friend willing to diss Angel with me. I wonder how I'd feel about Spike if he was in Angel's place, but then Spike already loves Buffy and she didn't bat an eyelash. Maybe she wouldn't have been interested, she obviously loved the broody type.

"Seriously, we're more colorful, aren't we?"

"Uh…"

"_We_ are." I glare at him, hopefully he's wise enough not to deny my colorfulness seeing as I can punch him easily without worrying about him returning it.

Spike chooses not to reply, taking another drag from his cigarette.

"You know, I guess… I started to give up on Buffy a little before the episode with Larry and the head damage." The itch in my leg is increasing, and I run my fingers on the gauze soothingly. "Maybe that was the start. I could never compete with Angel. Everything I do… or am… will never be enough."

Spike is staring through the long line of dancing smoke, his lips barely holding the length of the cigarette. He seems lost in deep thought and I'm wondering if he's even listening to me.

Still, it doesn't stop me from talking God forbid. "Maybe moving on was the best thing I did," I say, trying to convince myself. A laugh slips out of my mouth. "I can't believe I have a girlfriend, or dated Cordelia for that matter, though I'm still not in on all the details; I expect lots of bloodshed and violence. I mean, Cordelia, we had this whole invisible man syndrome in our relationship. Actually, invisibility was my relationship with almost all the ladies."

"They think you're beneath them," Spike says wistfully.

I point at finger at him eagerly. "Exactly. Like I'm some last thought, not worth thinking about."

"Just a pain in their backs."

"I can pass for a Massie in a snap."

"Always forgotten."

"Just once I wish I'd be…" "Never get…"

"_Noticed,_" both of us say in unison. Our eyes lock together, both a little startled, but not for long; my parted lips close as my expression loosens into a look of recognition that's mirroring Spike's. We keep staring at each other for some time before the cigarette Spike is holding starts to burn closer and closer to his fingers. He tosses it away, and heads to his bedroom, grinding it on his way.

He looks over his shoulder. "Beer?"

I shake my head. "Not tonight. I wanna start work tomorrow with my brains functioning."

Spike slides down, his form disappearing in a flash. I try to stand up, wincing at the burning in my leg. I should look at it at home, Spike's cool water isn't enough to reduce the pain or heal the skin. I stare at Spike's small TV, feeling something tight in my chest. The idea of going back to the Summers' house and coming across creepy Willow and her stupid girlfriend, or worse, creepy Willow catching me talking with unattainable Dawn, all makes my blood curdle with fear.

I let out a weary sigh, limping to Spike's hole and going down the ladder with difficulty. Still holding on to the wooden rung, my weight resting heavily on my uninjured foot, I'm taken aback by the mess in Spike's room. But then, he's a vampire, do creatures of the night clean up their bedrooms? I'm not sure I remember a villain in my various comic books being a clean freak. Not to say that Spike can't be a messy kind of vamp, if we're going by stereotypes, his bad-boy looks paint him as one. _However,_ his room had been somewhat tidy yesterday.

"How's loserville?" Spike asks with an amused smirk.

"Your room is a mess," I say carefully, wondering if Spike even noticed. I mean, if I wake up in a trash, I'd be weird-ed out. Especially if I wake up naked.

Spike opens a bottle and tosses the cover behind him. "Yeah, gets this way after a night of heavy drinking or rough sex."

"Sex!" I let go of the rung but don't fall down as anticipated; my leg on the other hand burns even more. "Yes, sex!"

Spike gives me a blank look. "What?"

"We had sex, Spike!" I fold my arms, but what I really want to do is smack his dumb head to the wall. "Waking up naked would be a dead give away."

"I always sleep naked," Spike says, taking a casual sip from the bottle.

"Oh."

"So, we had sex." Spike leers, his tongue going behind the upper set of his teeth.

I can't quite summon the energy to shrug. "Yes."

"How was it?"

"I don't know. Just saw… the aftermath." I'm starting to get uncomfortable. Spike's reaction to the news isn't like I've imagined.

Spike approaches me, his finger drawing slow circles on the rim of the bottle. "I did you."

"No," I lie quickly, almost feeling the soreness from the morning.

"No? I would've felt it if I was on the receiving end."

I try to hold on to my confident answer, but then, "All right, you screwed me." I rise to my defense before he throws a deadly sarcastic comment at me. "But I was drunk out of my mind when it happened. I wouldn't have been bottom-boy if we were sober."

"If you were, you would've topped?" Spike tilts his head, finger going inside the bottle.

"Yes," I reply, eyes unable to tear themselves from Spike's wicked finger.

"So, you're okay with sex if you're the one doing the work."

"I… who said anything about doing it?"

Spike spreads his arms, his muscles sticking out proudly beneath his tight shirt. "You want a piece of this?"

I take a step back. "Listen, bleached blunder, don't put words in my mouth. I said nothing about having sex."

A head tilt. "Unless you top."

"Unless I top," I agree with a nod. Reflect on what I said further. "What? No."

Spike purses his lips thoughtfully, his naughty finger coming out of the bottle and then sliding from top to the bottom, slowly and silkily. "I don't mind if you're doing all the work. I don't have much energy."

I feel the rungs of the ladder against my back. "We're not having sex."

"If you say so." Now the smirk is back.

What the hell is going on with him? He's hitting on me, since when does he fancy me? If only those memories would pop into my head, I hate the fact that I know nothing about the new developments of my life. I'm sure it's not a regular thing or else Spike would have said something before. Spike starts to rub a hand absently over his own chest, a mischievous glint in his eyes. I figure him out in an instant. Time to turn the tables.

"Gosh, Spike, I didn't know," I say in fake comprehension. Spike's hand stops from moving, his brows meeting. Gotcha! "The signs were there all along." I nod with an understanding expression.

"What are you talking about?" Good to see him fall for the bait for a change.

"You don't have to pretend anymore. I'm on to you."

"You're on to what, twat?" Uh-oh, he's getting angry.

"I'm sorry, Spike, but I have to let you down easy. I just don't swing that way."

He bites his lip, seeming to will his body to stay still when his instincts obviously clamor at him to attack me. Suddenly, his expression clears into a look of realization. His smirk is back. "Oh, really, what about last night?"

"Drunken mistake."

He steps closer, now we're standing face to face, the smell of smoke and beer hitting my nose. I can feel his glass bottle against my chest. "You so sure about that?"

"Big nothing," I say, voice trembling a little. My heart starts beating with fear and something else I don't want to admit. I should push him away; I should climb up the ladder and get the freaking hell out of here. But my leg hurts, and Spike's sharp blue eyes paralyze me in place.

Spike cranes his neck, his eyes on my lips. "If it was nothing, why did you bring it up?"

"I don't know." I'm starting to breathe heavily and the bottle slides down my body, now on my jeans where the goods are. "Why are you pushing the matter?'

Spike's nose is so close to mine. "Because I see lust in your eyes."

"It's the reflection of yours."

He presses the bottle against my erection: a gasp escapes my mouth, my head rubbing slightly on the rung. "Can slip you a glass and you can blame it all on alcohol if you want."

My knees are wobbling, and my hands grab the steps, keeping me up. "I'm not the one who obviously wants it."

"Don't kid yourself." Spike's lips are hovering against mine. "I'm a vampire, I can tell."

"You don't have to be a vampire to tell these things, Spike." I feel his lips on my cheek as I turn my head away. This is wrong, the desire and the erection, I should be having these with Anya.

"I felt you on the bike. It was why you let go, wasn't it?"

It should be up for Anya and her alone. It doesn't matter that I know Spike more than my fiancée, spend more time with him than with her; that he's the only one trying to track down the demon that hurt me and help me get my memories back.

I face Spike again: his eyes are so blue, craving me, yearning for my kiss. I understand why I'm attracted, he's not just a title I should act according to, he's proven his status for me, he was able to make me see why we were friends to begin with. Earlier at the Magic Box, sitting with Anya, all I felt was guilt and awkwardness but the second I saw Spike, despite the fear and worry, little glitters of excitement were swirling around me. I wanted to come out to Spike.

"Are we… we…"

"Losing it?" Spike asks hoarsely.

I swallow, his eyes filled with desire; shocking, scary, but alluring. "We are."

He clasps his mouth over mine, and the beer bottle crashes between us. My eyelids fall close; I don't feel his breath as opposed to mine which I feel heating his cool cheeks. I cup his face in my hands on impulse, concentrating on the feel of his lips; chapped, dry, man-lips. I don't think or care, I'm kissing a man and I like it. Regrets and consequences be damned, I'm doing this, I'm keeping my lips locked on Spike's until I'm bored and want to do something else.

Like, parting my lips and thrusting my tongue inside. Spike's grunt of approval thrills me and I push my tongue more, tasting the beer, which isn't that horrible inside his mouth for some reason. Spike pulls me tight against his body, throwing us both on the floor; the rash on my leg makes its disapproval at the rough action painfully clear, but I'm too busy with my NC 17 kiss to give a crap.

The floor is hard against my back, my butt feeling the edge of a rug underneath. Spike claims my mouth as he thrusts his body on top of mine. Wait, I'm under him?

I spin us until I'm sitting on Spike's stomach, giving him a determined stare. He releases a soft laugh, shaking his head at me. I break into a smile of my own.

I lean downward: as I'm about to kiss him he puts a hand between our lips, and I end up with my lips pressed against his palm. "No dirty talk?"

I give a lopsided grin. "All my versions of dirty talk are taken from my dad's porn videos and I guarantee they're gonna turn you off."

"They didn't yesterday." A wolfish leer is taking over but all I'm feeling is stunned confusion.

"How would you know? You were hammered."

"It would take more than a half bottle of whiskey to get a vampire sloshed."

My mind reflects back to yesterday, me out of my mind, not in control, Spike taking advantage. "So, you remember?" I ask, my heart thudding under my shirt. "Why did you lie?"

"Messing with your head is fun." He clasps his fingers behind his neck, casting me a grin.

A swift, stunning wave of hurt tears through me, robbing me of breath and strength, confusion clouding my thoughts. Something stings in my eyes and Spike blurs before me as I'm blinded with rage. My fingernails dig into Spike's arms as small daggers of hurt keep ripping though me.

I pin Spike's hands above his head with all my might, putting so much pressure on that I could break his wrists. It doesn't work: instead of panic Spike's eyes are filled with thrill. The anger begins to burn again, and I smash my lips on his, pushing my tongue inside. I know that's what he wants, but I can't help it, I'm so over the edge I can't stop myself. A surge of lust mixed with repulsion deluges through, and I suck and nibble on Spike's lips, before sweeping my tongue in again.

He's a bastard and I can't help but kiss him. I ravage his mouth, bite his tongue, press my groin hard against his, thrilled to hear his groan inside my mouth.

I should be kissing Anya, rocking my body against hers and sucking on her tongue. She loves me, tries hard to make it work with me. He, on the other hand, kept pushing me away; I was the one busting my neck off to get him to talk to me. Why aren't I working that hard on fixing it with Anya? What the hell did that demon do to me? I'm not the kind of guy who prefers hanging out with a vampire over his friends or a hot girl head over heels in love with him.

Just the thought of my friends put a bitter bullet in my chest. I don't have friends; if I did, I wouldn't be this scared at the mere thought of passing them by. I can't stand talking for a second with Anya. The only one I want to spend time with is the asshole I'm French kissing.

I break the kiss, panting heavily on Spike's face. "I'm sleeping here tonight."

"Could care less." Then swiftly he takes my mouth in another bruising kiss.

I feel a tugging deep inside me. An urge to hurt him with everything I have. So I bite so hard on his tongue, tasting blood while doing it. With an animal snarl, Spike pushes me back until I'm lying flat on my back. He's lands on top of me, eyes wide with lust, and he wastes no time before smacking his lips on mine.

Tears prick my eyes. I recall when I woke up in the hospital how gleeful I felt about the hot girlfriend, the awesome apartment, the head-of-my-own-crew job. I thought I woke up in the perfect future with the perfect life I could ever get.

Perfect future my ass, I want this nightmare to be over. I wanna be back to my house with my suddenly sane parents. Jocks and cheerleaders picking on me is way easier to handle than this hell, at least I used to have the comfort of Buffy and normal, non-witch, non-lesbian Willow's friendship.

Here, I'm all alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

I run.

I know I'm running, I just don't feel it. I run so fast, not watching where I'm going, just desperate to get away from it all. I don't want to think about it; my brain is shut down. My heart is jack-hammering in my chest, I let out as many whimpers as I can; not thinking about it, not thinking about it. I keep running, following my instinct, letting my reflexes carry me to whatever. Think about nothing.

Their voices snapping at me, their hands about to grab me, my heart leaps with fear and I run faster and harder. It's not my fault, I didn't know how… don't _think!_

My injured foot from yesterday loses track, and I collapse, scarping my face against the sidewalk. I rise on stinging knees, a fearful glance over my shoulder; nothing but trees glowing under the blinding sunrays.

The panic-strike decreases gradually, leaving my emotions lifeless and empty. I force myself up on my feet and start walking, again to no particular place. My feet feel light and numb; I have no idea where they're taking me. It's like the Hyena possession when I had no control over them.

Noise. Sounds of women fighting. I spot the cheap TV in the middle of Spike's crypt. Spike watching his soap opera shows. I can barely see him through the fog of shock covering my eyes.

"You all right?"

I step into the crypt, feeling nothing. "No," I say so low, I'm not sure he heard me.

"What's wrong?" I imagine concern in Spike's tone, knowing it's mostly a sneer.

I don't think, I don't even care, Spike is a vampire anyway, it'll probably impress him. "I killed Jerrod."

Saying these three words out loud, I finally lose it; I break down. Loneliness and distress overriding me, shoving me to the floor and leaving me there, neglected and unwanted. I shake all over, teeth chattering against each other, eyes swollen with tears. Not a manly image, but I could care less, let Spike rub it in my face. I'm finished.

I'm starting to hallucinate because I feel a hand on my trembling shoulder. I stay in my crouched position not buying into this illusion. But the hand squeezes my shoulder, making it more real than a figment of my imagination.

I raise puffed up eyes, meeting understanding blue ones. "C'mon now, mate, cut the water works," he says it softly.

I turn away, wiping the heel of my hand over my eyes. "Jeez, I'm such a wimp."

"No news there."

"Sod off," I say with a small smile that I lose quickly. Fresh tears form as Jarrod's wide eyes spring into my head.

"Now what happened?" Spike's voice pulls me back from that horrible memory.

Not meeting his eyes, I focus mine on the back on his armchair. "I couldn't work the wrecking ball. I told them I don't know how to use it."

Tony had insisted I start working my lazy ass off and do something useful, not like I haven't been hauling girders for the past couple of days since I started working. I guess he really wanted the old Xander back to help carry some of the weight off his shoulders. Old Xander used to be good at using the wrecking ball, and Tony probably thought it's genetic. Turns out, it's not.

"Explains the high death rate in those construction sites," Spike says out of the blue.

I return my eyes to Spike, wide with shock and gladness. "That's what I thought. And still think."

There's something off about the way he's looking at me; he's always had that scornful glint in his eyes. Right now, his gaze is more gentle and considerate. "Look, no sense in over thinking it," he says after an unexpected shoulder clap. "Court will be on your side, given your condition."

I can still see it, how the ball flew right to where Jarrod was standing on the second floor. I wanted to stop it, didn't know what to press, what to pull, and it all happened so fast. He was smacked out of the second floor to the ground, spread out on it, unconscious and blood-spattered. Dead.

I feel myself trembling all over again, my eyes still wide. "I'm really scared, Spike."

Spike's hand squeezes my shoulder again. I swallow a lump, not breaking the eye contact, wanting to reassure myself with his understanding gaze that everything will be all right.

He heaves a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought. He looks down at me, his lips move.

"How about a shag?"

My eyebrows fly up to my hairline, I glance at the hole to the bedroom, return my baffled gaze to him. "Shag?"

Spike shrugs. "Won't calm you down, but I can guarantee you won't be thinking about this for a whole hour."

Anyone else may take issue with the suggestion under the circumstances, but all I feel is warmth spreading inside of me. "Make it two hours."

* * *

I'm startled when I find Giles at the Summers' home. I haven't seen him since that day in the hospital. He's wearing his glasses, a very small reminder of the librarian I know and love. He, Willow and Tara are huddled in the living room, looking seriously troubled.

The second I walk in, Willow jumps out of her seat and hurries toward me. "Where were you?" she asks, I hear worry, but this time I know it's just my imagination.

"Around," I reply gruffly.

Her hand touches my shabby cheek, her eyes wide with fear. "We got a call from the construction site."

"Oh."

Giles takes off his glasses and involuntarily reaches for his handkerchief. "Mr. White is severely injured and will be in need of an immediate surgical treatment." He puts on his glasses and gives me one of those stern looks he always saves for me. "You made matters worse by running away."

"Why did you run away? Now they'll think you did that on purpose." Willow tugs on my arms, and I break her tight hold harshly. She blinks up at me, befuddled.

"I was… scared." I try not to look at either her or Giles. My gaze lands on Tara, who is staring at me silently, obviously amused by this turn of events.

"Don't worry about it. We'll bail you out," Willow says.

"We'll probably need a lawyer for this," Giles says to Willow.

"I'm not sure we have enough money to hire a lawyer."

He removes his glasses and chews absentmindedly on one earpiece. "I'll see what I can do. I've already bought my ticket to London."

I snap at that and look at Giles with shock. "You're leaving?"

Giles puts on his glasses again. "Yes."

My jaw tightens as does my chest. "When?"

Giles seems to sense my distress, lowering his voice as he answers, "Soon."

"But… but what about us?"

"You're going to do fine…"

"I killed a guy today," I cut him off absently, my expression desperate.

"You didn't kill…"

"I can't take this anymore!" I interrupt with a frantic shout. "You can't just leave us here drowning for some tea and crumpets."

"Xander," Willow says sternly.

"Oh, will you just quit it!" I bark at her, satisfied when she flinches. "You had more chances of passing as a mother in high school than you do now! This adult-me show you're putting on ceased to exit the second you told me about the resurrection."

Giles narrows his eyes at Willow. "What resurrection?"

"Willow is playing around with magic. Irresponsibly." That last word is for Willow's benefit, she gives me a dour look.

"Willow, have you lost your mind!"

"Giles, I think you need to hear me out."

"Do you have any idea what forces you'll be harnessing?"

"I can handle it!"

"You shouldn't be messing with dark magics!"

"Enough!" I scream at both of them, shaking my head in disappointment. "I can't believe… is this really my future?"

"Let's not be over-dramatic, Xander." Giles pulls out his glasses for the third time, so I snatch them from him, irritated.

"No, let's."

Giles blinks confused eyes at his glasses in my hand. I wave them in front of him angrily. "Where the hell have you been in the last few days? I'm struggling to fit into this upside down time-line, and instead of being a friend you were too busy to even visit."

Guilt and hurt come over Giles' face. "Xander…"

"And what's up with the American wear? Where's the tweed? The smell of dusty books? And did your glasses get smaller?" I stare with disgust at the modern pair with a half rim design.

Willow takes a small step forwards, wanting to calm me down with a hand touch. But I don't want to be calmed down, so I twirl toward her and shake the stupid glasses with the not-round lenses in her face. "And you, Willow, with your boring clothes, and your magic, and your lesbianism, and you hair! It's all hacked off! It doesn't even look good."

I slap the glasses against Giles' chest. He takes them right away and holds on to them protectively. I take a step back, away from the disappointing older versions of my friends.

"Now, if you excuse me, I have a date with my fiancée," I announce, lifting up my chin.

They all stare at me with shock.

"Yeah, guess I haven't told you. I wonder WHY!" I smack the door close behind me, still feeling the boost of manly adrenaline. I keep my angry walk in case one of them peers from the window. And, I'm still angry, but less so than before, getting stuff off my chest helped a lot.

* * *

I grab the last dip bread from the wooden basket and sweep up what's left of olive oil. Even with my mouth full, I keep ranting my problems to Anya and the guests in the table next to us. The Italian waiter taps his pen on the notebook intolerantly; the sound drives me doolally, especially when combined with Anya's fingers tapping on the table.

"Stop doing that!" I snap at him.

"He's been waiting for fifteen minutes, Xander," Anya grumbles.

"Well, that's what he's hired for. To 'wait'."

Anya shakes her head in embarrassment, and then turns a sweet smile to the waiter. "I'm sorry. I think we need more minutes here."

He twists his lips in displeasure at me then gingerly walks away.

"Could you please stop talking about Willow in our date?" Anya hisses. Her brows haven't changed since I met her, always furrowed.

"And Giles with his stupid ticket and stupid family of tweed-wear and stupid uptight England. So, now that Buffy's gone, he's got it in his head that we don't need him, but we do. He can't' just…"

"Giles is leaving?" Anya's grin is so huge the upper half of her face is separated from her chin.

I narrow my eyes at her. "Aren't you a tad too excited?"

"Why wouldn't I? If Giles leaves that means I get to have the Magic Box all to myself."

I'm surprised I have more anger in me, because lately it's been firing out of my ears constantly. "What the hell is wrong with you? Have you got no compassion? Is money all you care about?"

"Of course not." She pouts at what I said. "I also care about sex which I'm not getting since that stupid demon messed with your brain."

"What about me? Don't you give a crap about what I'm going through?"

"Yeah, because it's always about you, isn't it?" She glares. "You're so self-absorbed."

"I'm going through something here!"

"Willow did this. Giles did that. Buffy wants this. Dawn wants that. Do you ever care about what I want?"

"I've got amnesia!"

"That phrase is starting to get too off-putting. Will this amnesia thing ever wear off?"

"Yeah, 'cause I'm enjoying it plenty," I grit my teeth.

She slaps her palms on the table and leans forwards, her eyes narrowing at me. "You know, last night I dreamt of having sex with David Lettermen."

I'm about to bark something, but then, "David Lettermen?" My nose crinkles with abhorrence.

"And you know what? It was way more enjoyable than your lousy, edgy lay that night!"

I've got no anger left, which is why I'm remaining rigidly calm. I tangle my fingers, my arms resting on the table. "Spike didn't think so."

I smirk with satisfaction when her eyes bulge out. "Spike?"

"We slept together. Three, uh, four times. Actually I'm not sure how many times we did it in the first time, maybe three, so that makes it seven times." I straighten my back, my smirk not wavering.

"You asshole!" Everybody around us whips their heads our way. Waiters look uncomfortable at one another.

"You know what. I've always wondered why the connection is so lost with us - apparently there wasn't any before. But Spike, I can understand why he's my best friend."

"Since when is he your best friend?" she cries out. An older man orders a waiter to do something about us, we're disturbing his nice evening.

"Since he got that chip. Do you notice anything outside of money and sex?" And she accuses me of being self-absorbed, what did I see in her before? I was probably too smitten by her sex toys to care about anything else.

"You and Spike?" She cracks laughing. Pauses. "Best friends?" She laughs again. "The only thing you have for each other is disdain."

I rest my chin on my fists, smiling sweetly at her. "Honey, are you jealous?"

"Who told you this blatant lie?" she asks between a fit of giggles.

I feel a beat of alarm. Anya's reaction isn't equivalent to a jealous girlfriend's. "Dawn said…"

"Oh, and Dawn is the queen of honesty." Anya nods her head like she understands what the heck is going on now. "Do you remember when we asked her to clean up her mess in the Magic Box?"

"No, I don't," I answer dryly.

Anya goes on, unaware of my cynical tone. "She told us she had the cramps. And those 'cramps' weren't due for another two weeks."

The mention of women cramps only leads to one thing: me losing my beloved ability to speak.

Anya goes back to giggling. "That sneaky little weasel."

Something tight and painful swells in my chest. "Are… are you saying that Spike isn't my friend?"

"Xander, you barely exchange civil words, how the hell would he be your _best friend_?" She wipes a few tears from laughter, shaking her head in amusement. "I'm surprised you didn't figure it out earlier. You're not Spike's favorite person; he'd throw you out of his crypt the second you step foot in it."

He did. More than once. And rudely. I knew something was fishy, I asked Dawn about it, and she… and she lied. Again.

I stand up abruptly, scraping my chair against the floor. I grab my jacket, flinging it over my shoulder, and storm out.

"Where are you going?" Anya shouts behind me. "What about our date?"

I could care less.

"Xander!"

* * *

"Xander!"

Don't tell me she's going to follow me.

"Xander!"

The voice. It's not Anya's.

I turn around, Dawn beams at me as she reaches me and my jaw tightens. "Hey, how did your date with Anya go?" she asks chirpily.

I regard her silently for a while and she appears to falsely assume it's about my date. As she reaches with her hand to comfort me, I say with a hollow voice, "Spike isn't my friend."

She withdraws her hand abruptly, a deer in headlights expression on her face.

"You lied to me," I say with a voice rough with emotions. "I liked you, Dawn, I _liked_ you."

"I like you, too, Xander. And Spike, too. That's why… I wanted you guys to be friends."

I was so lost, knowing nothing about my life after falling down those freaking stairs. Everybody was foreign to me; I didn't know who to trust. Then Dawn took me to the kitchen and answered my questions, since I woke up in the hospital, she was the only one giddy and ready to fill me in on my life. I grew to have feelings for her, I_ trusted_ her. All that time she was taking advantage of me, feeding me all kinds of bullshit.

"I don't know you."

"Xander…"

"No, I mean, I don't remember you. Back in 1997, there was only Buffy and Joyce, you weren't there. You're a shock. Who the hell are you?"

Dawn's eyes are brilliant with unshed tears. "Xander."

Her broken expression doesn't get to me this time. I'm too mad to care. I leave her standing there without glancing back. Right now I'm more interested in confronting someone else.

Spike.

* * *

I kick his wooden door open and stare in deadly silence at him sitting on his armchair, a glass of blood in his hand, watching one of his soaps. Guess it's the only thing a vampire could do when the sun is up.

Spike straightens up when he sees me. "Did you talk to your chums? Everything going to be all right?"

"Why didn't you say something?" My voice is completely expressionless.

Spike looks confused. "About what?"

There's a simmering anger gathering in the air between us, all coming from me. "We're not friends."

Spike's jaw tightens, his expression altering all together into a look of disdain. "'Course. Just a shag."

A bang of hurt goes through me, building the angry fire inside my chest. I recall what he said about me begging for his penis, about him not being wasted, about screwing my zonked ass all night long. "You used me," I snap the words with so much hate and bitterness. "You acted like we were buddies for sex."

"I… what?" Confusion clouds Spike's face, brows going up and wrinkling his forehead.

"I opened up to you. I told you things I can only say to Willow. And not witchy, arrogant Willow." Every sentence I spit out tears a hole in my gut, the knives sticking on my back twisting so hard. "I thought you were my friend. But, we never were." Betrayal tastes bitter on my tongue, stabbing me like a blade.

"I never said I was your friend," Spike lashes out at me, pointing an accusing finger, his veins clear in his forehead. "You're the one who keeps intruding here, invading my privacy. I wanted you gone. But you keep coming back, over and over, I couldn't do anything. I have this sodding chip in my head." He presses a finger on his temple so hard, almost drilling a hole in it.

I clench my jaw, dragging out a deep breath. "You could've said something."

"Said plenty. You remember, lest it's part of your 'selective amnesia'." I don't miss the implied sarcastic quote marks.

I want to roll my eyes but it feels like a huge effort. "I meant about us hating each other."

"Say what? I didn't know you thought we were bosom buddies."

"Oh, you're smart enough, Spike. I don't have to spell it out for you. You'd know if I'm starting to act out of character."

"Memory loss. Ought to make you a different person."

"Yeah, memory loss. Perfect excuse to _fuck_ with my brains." I don't give him a chance to retort as I storm out in anger, smacking both of his doors harshly behind me.

The sun is about to set, Spike won't be able to follow me for a few minutes, if he bothered to. I squeeze my eyes shut, holding back tears of betrayal, hating everybody I know, including myself. I was so naïve, so stupid, falling for their bait. I snap my glassy eyes open and stare directly at the sun, its orange streaks breaking through tall white clouds. But it doesn't reach me, too hopeful and bright, not for me.

I start moving out of the cemetery, leaving my car behind, just like in high school, I walk. Luxury is so out of my league, and at this moment, I just want to be the sixteen year old loser.

* * *

Numb all over, my eyes don't waver off the crumbled ruin that used to be my high school. I'm not sure I can feel anything anymore; my lips a thin line, my arms hanging lifelessly by my sides. Remains of dead trees covered the front yard and the walls, shattered glass all over the broken windows, and there are no doors in the entrance. A brick roof fell on the balcony Buffy had threatened to push Larry from when she was saving my ass from the bullies. My last day in sanity fair before everything went upside down.

I bite my lower lip, my tears welling up, I find myself being drawn to the ruins of the building. This used to be my second home –sometimes I consider it my first- I was never an attentive student, but I always managed to attend. In ninth grade, I was credited for my attendance, even when I was suffering from a high fever.

The hallway is completely burnt up. Tattered, gray walls with distant memories of ignorant cheerleaders, four-eyed nerds, and buffed up bullies; a world I know and miss so much. I stop in front of my scorched locker and then glance at Willow's. Finally my eyes stop at Buffy's. She always leant against her locker, books hugged to her chest, and she'd be filling us in on the latest scoop on last night's patrol.

I keep walking though the unstable walls as memories rush into my head. Harmony's smug smirk at the sight of my yellow shoes; Sam having a nervous breakdown because he realized he studied history instead of geography and the test was due to start in twenty minutes; Nancy's body spread on the floor, bites on her neck visible for all to see.

I stand still, looking down at my last memory in high school, the stairs I fell from. I close my eyes, recalling how they came closer and closer, my body flailing in the air, and then the pain exploding in my body as every inch of it smacked against those stairs. My foot is leaning against the edge of the last step, and for a second, I wish Buffy had never showed up, had never threatened Larry. I wish they'd dressed me up in the Middle Eastern costume and watched me belly dance my shame through every corner of their locker room. I would've been having a sleepover with Buffy and Willow right now, watching another Indian movie.

My foot about to slip, my breath caught in my mouth, waiting for the pain, desperately wanting to go back. I'd find myself waking up down those stairs, Buffy crouching next to me, calling my name over and over. I'd squint my eyes at the bright layers of the sun, noticing the circle of disturbed students gazing down at me. Snyder pushing his way inside, leaning down next to me, pleading me not to sue.

Then Willow squeezes herself in between the crowd. She holds my hand, her long hair hiding her wide green eyes that are definitely filled with fear and concern.

I brush her hair behind her ear and find coal black eyes staring me down. I turn to Buffy, she's grinning widely. "You're a carpenter," she says in a robotic voice.

I snap out of my thoughts and plant my foot firm on the last rung, stopping it from slipping abruptly. My eyes are focusing on the spot down where my unconscious body had ended up on after the fall. I can't go back, not with everything I know. Nothing will ever be the same again.

"Thought you'd be here."

I twirl around when I hear those words. Amidst the wreckage, I see a figure standing in the shadow. The streams of moonlight shining through holes in the ceiling aren't enough to identify who it is.

"Hey," I manage to whisper.

Willow's gaze wanders around the debris. "You were so happy when we burnt this place down."

I look away at the long line of stairs. "I feel the exact opposite of that."

Willow moves to the stairs and sits on the last step. She pats the spot next to her inviting me to sit. I do as she gestures, my elbows on my knees and my chin rested on the fists of my hands.

"What happened to me, Will?"

She gives me a confused stare.

"How did I become this guy, someone who challenges the natural orders of things, asks a woman he doesn't love to marry him, despises the shit out of Sp… wait, that actually makes more sense than the friendship thing."

"How did you figure it out? The part about not loving Anya?" she sounds sad, which surprises me, I have the impression she doesn't like Anya much.

"I can feel that I don't." I sound as sad. Loving Anya would've made more sense than lusting after Spike.

"You didn't tell me about the engagement," she whispers, looking at her hands, hurt.

"See, that's exactly what I mean, I told no one about it. Why did I propose if I wasn't comfortable with it?"

Willow scoffs. "Maybe she nagged you to do it."

I glance at her with a lopsided smile. "You really don't like her, huh?"

"We don't get along. It's not like I want her out of our lives, or for you to break up with her, but… I've always thought you could do better."

"A vengeance demon." I shake my head. "I don't get it."

"Me neither."

We share a familiar smile. It's one of those smiles we only save for each other. I'd never thought Willow and I would grow apart, would never be as close as we've always been before the accident. In my future, I always pictured her by my side, us growing old and sitting on a bench with her cats and my dogs getting the best of each other.

"You really changed, Will."

"I did."

"It's so weird. You were the one person I knew inside and out. I'd never guess you'd turn out this way, what does that say about me?"

"I didn't know I'd turn out this way either, Xander." She lowers her gaze sorrowfully. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"No, Willow, I'm… shocked, confused, and a little bit scared, but… maybe I'll get used to it." I put a hand on her shoulder and squeeze until she meets my gaze. "Look, put yourself in my place, what if sixteen year old you woke up in the future?"

"I'd probably be scared, too. I remember how the idea of vampire-me being gay freaked me out."

"Exactly, it's just a matter of shock. No disappointment." I smile to reassure her, and then my brows meet. "Wait. Vampire-you?"

She chuckles. "Long story. I'll tell you about it later."

The long stories are starting to trip over each other, waiting to be heard. I should expect that, seeing the life we're living. Willow nudges my shoulder, I meet her eyes and she gives me a tender smile. I want to rest my head on her shoulder, I miss her so much. I want her to embrace me the way she used to do when we were kids, anything to remind me that this is the same girl I know.

"When I saw you, I was so happy, you and Giles were the only familiar faces. I was relieved, but… I was upset… that I felt more connection with people I didn't know than my own friends."

Guilt clouds Willow's face and she looks away. "Dawn was able to reach out to you more."

I clench my eyes shut. "God, Dawn."

"What?"

"I told her I didn't remember her. The things I've said to her."

The disappointed mother look is back and Willow starts to chide me again, "Xander, she's fifteen."

"And I'm sixteen, Will," I say heatedly, fed up with her high expectations. I hate how she's putting me on a pedestal since I started living at the Summers' home. "Doesn't matter if I'm in a grown up's body. All I feel, think, _know_ are sixteen year old Xander."

She nods at what I said. "I guess we never tried to understand… how hard it is for you."

"It's not all your fault," I say. "I couldn't accept the changes in you or Giles, which is why I preferred to spend more time with someone I had no expectations of; Dawn and Spike."

She smiles. "You and Spike became friends?"

My heart squeezes, not sure how to answer that. "Uh…"

"About time," she says. "You've been fighting side by side since Buffy's death, going on nightly patrols together. Tara and I were betting whether you'll end up friends or killing each other."

"What did you bet?"

She smiles again. "Friends."

Our knees touch slightly, and then we rub our shoes together, something we used to do when we were kids. I sigh, not in the mood to discuss the mess that is my relationship with Spike, so I look at her, changing the subject. "So, about bringing Buffy back, still dead bent on that?"

She shakes her head. "Giles won't let me."

"I won't let you."

She remains quiet for seconds, and then heaves a sigh. "You probably wouldn't let me even if you still had your memories."

I frown. "You said I agreed to do it."

"But you weren't 100% in. You dropped in a few jokes about me being the Blair Witch. I guess you were relieved that we still haven't found the urn. Maybe if we did, you'd back out."

"Really? You think I would."

"Yeah."

Relief washes over me. "Good."

We stare at the stairs for a while before Willow rests her head on my shoulder, I relax my head on hers, our shoes still rubbing against each other.

"I miss her, Xander," Willow's voice is so small, so melancholic.

I wrap an arm around her shoulders and hug her. "I guess you do, more than me," I admit. Losing Buffy is hard, but losing Willow would probably kill me, she's been my best friend all my life. "You knew her longer. It's harder to move on, when you know someone long enough. I've only known her for a year." Something tightens around my chest, remembering Buffy's smile, I still haven't gotten over the fact that she's gone. "It still hurts, though."

Willow raises her head and looks me in the eye, resolved face intact. "We'll get through it."

I smile down at her determined face. "We will."

* * *

Willow places the last bowl of her cooking on the dining table, wiping the sauce from her fingers on her smudged apron. She's been cooking all day long, her way of apologizing to me and Giles. She claps her clean hands with excitement. "So, this is my first attempt at Mexican food. Hope you like the guacamole. It's exactly like the book says, except without the avocados, but it still tastes the same."

Giles gives an uneasy glance at the weird looking dishes on the table; the tacos look more like very thin pizzas, she did apologize for it earlier though, she couldn't find 'taco bread'. "They appear to be delicious, Willow," Giles decides to go for polite, as do all of us.

"Dig in!" Willow urges, hands behind her back undoing the knot, and soon she's apron free. "And don't be shy to tell me what you really think."

'Shy' doesn't describe what we all really feel about upsetting Willow; 'dread' is more like it. I've seen Willow's black eyes once and I'm not planning to see them again unless they're directed at the amnesia demon. I grab a burrito, because it's the only thing that looks the least harmful. I take a bite, doesn't taste like burrito, but it's delicious. I give an overjoyed moan for Willow's benefit, and then exclaim, "Scrumptious!"

She squeals and takes a seat next to Tara, who's staring at the guacamole like it's going to tackle her.

Some of the loose taco's fillings fall on Giles' pants. Panicking, he removes the pieces of chicken and pickles right away, but then gives a strangled whimper when he sees the stain. He notices me glancing at him with an amused stare, and then leans whispering in my ear, "She should stick to her guilt chocolate-chip cookies."

"Willow makes chocolate-chip cookies?" I whisper back.

"Yes, and they were marvelous."

"What are you guys whispering about?" Willow asks suddenly.

Giles sits back hastily. "Uh, I was telling him about the lawyer." He looks at me, and I fight the snigger from escaping. "He says we have good chances of winning this case, but he can't guarantee you being able to keep your job."

"It's fine. I've been planning on quitting anyway." I take another bite from my burrito, not missing Giles' stunned expression at my revelation. "I have no idea what I saw in that job in the first place," I add with my mouth full.

Giles grimaces at my bad table manners, but doesn't comment on it. "You're a very skilled carpenter, Xander. When I bought the Magic Box, it was a disaster. You were the one who put it back together. It was also you who built the training room for Buffy."

I reflect on what he said. "Maybe I'm skilled; I just don't have much passion for it." I grab another burrito, smiling at Willow's happy face. "Besides, the working staff isn't that friendly."

"If you want, I can offer you a job at the Magic Box."

"I know nothing about magic."

"Temporarily, until you find something you like."

"I'm not sure it's wise to work with Anya," I say reluctantly. "Spending a long amount of time with one's ex is a first class ticket to suicidal, at least that's what it says in all of Dawn's magazines." I grin at Dawn, she doesn't return it. My smile gradually vanishes.

"So, you guys broke up?" Willow asks, concerned.

Still distracted by Dawn giving me the brush off, I stumble to answer Willow, "We, uh, did."

"How did she take it?"

I lower my gaze as I answer, "she cried."

Willow lets out a sympathetic little noise. "Did you hug her? Hugging is good medicine."

I bite my lip. "Couldn't." She narrows her eyes at me. "We, uh, broke up on the phone. Really dramatic."

Willow gives a disappointed sigh. "Xander."

"I'm gonna see her tomorrow. I've got some stuff to take care of. I need your help on that, Giles."

He nods. "I'm there."

I'm about to eat another bite of my food, but instead I turn my attention to Giles, feeling warm and loved all of a sudden. "Thanks, um…" I place the burrito on my plate, feeling something heavy on my chest, remembering how I behaved yesterday. "I'm sorry about what I said, I was out of line. England is your homeland and…"

"I understand, Xander."

I turn my gaze to the others, swallowing. "I think I owe you all an apology. I was a dick. But then, I've always been one. Ask Willow."

"He's got a degree on dickness since our team was kicked out of the elementary marathon because he decided to cheat."

"But no more. Dick is out of the race and Rick is taking over."

"Are you talking about Team Hoyt?" Giles asks excited, thinking he's finally understood a pop culture reference.

But unfortunately for him, I don't. "Who?"

His shoulders slump in defeat. "Never mind."

My snigger is cut short when I hoist my very light soda can. It's empty.

"Want another one, Xander?" Tara suggests, holding out a Cola can for me.

I take it with a smile. "Thanks, Tara."

She smiles back, and I'm a little relieved. I'm still not sure how to feel about her exactly, but I want to stay on Willow's safe side. Unfortunately, the person I want to make up with the most is still sitting sulkily next to me.

I sit back, eying Dawn with a grin. She pretends not to notice. My grin gets boarder and her brows entangle. She sets her spoon and casts me a bored stare.

"So, I'm a BSB nerd. And apparently I'm an AJ fanboy."

She considers what I said, and for a moment I'm thinking she's going to give me the cold shoulder, but then she sits back, folding her arms and pouting. "Tried to lure you to the N*Sync charm."

"I don't know, _I Want It That Way_ is so catchy."

"Ew," she says and then smiles.

_Yes!_

She leans on her elbow, chin resting on her fist. "So you don't remember me."

"I'm sorry." Her expression droops into a sulk, but then I try to amend, "If it makes you feel better, I'm not sure I know anyone in this table. Not even me." I hold her hand lying on her thigh and squeeze. "So much has changed in four years, Dawn. Even if I knew you before, you'd be someone different now and we wouldn't have been this close."

She looks up, surprised.

"Right now, you're my real best friend." I bring a finger to my lips, casting a fleeting look at the others. "But, shhh, don't tell Willow."

Her smile is back, but more bittersweet. "Sorry about the Spike lie. I shouldn't have…"

"Hey, it's in the past. As long as it's the only one."

"It is. Well, everything that involves Spike."

"Even the part about him being wittier than me?"

"No, that one is real."

My moment of shame is interrupted by someone trying to open the door, and since I've knocked some sense into Willow's 'responsible' head, the door is locked. Willow is about to go and answer it when I hold up a hand, stopping her.

"Wait. I'm the man of the house. I answer doors."

All women roll their eyes at my impulsive machoness but my real reasons for going are due to my suspicion that the knocker is Anya. And since we hung up on a lousy note, I won't be comfortable having our dirty laundry laid out for all to see. Having a yelling match in which the only yeller is Anya privately at the door is less embarrassing.

I unlock the door, heave a sigh, and then open the door to greet my ex…

Spike?

He's wearing an open red collared shirt underneath his usual leather duster, black jeans, and his dirty black boots. Something to be said about my new noticing clothes fetish.

"Speaking of the devil," I say gruffly, noting the change in his expression. "If you came for a patrol buddy, we already sent Buffybot. She can do the job better than you and me combined."

He stares at me silently for seconds before he asks quietly, "What about the demon?"

I fold my arms across my chest, blocking the entrance. "My friends and I can handle it."

Spike clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together and sucking in his cheeks so they're twitching. "You're going off in a snit for some reason, care to explain?"

"I hated your guts before."

"I never gave you much thought before, so what?"

I sigh, rubbing my temples in frustration. "We never liked each other. You knew that and you still hung out."

"Because I'm adaptable to change. You, on the other hand, are a single-minded dolt."

My lips are pulled into a thin line. "It's good for my sanity."

Fury colors Spike's face. "Suit yourself. But listen, git, this whole being used bit works both ways." His voice has a sinister hush to it, but his words are what make my skin crawl. My gaze falls to my sneakers, unable to look at him as it hits me how right he is.

"Oh, and tell your witch to leave Buffy alone."

My head snaps up; he's standing a few yards away from me, like he was on his way out but stopped to give me his last bit. "You mean…"

"She's where she deserves. Shouldn't have doubted that," Spike says flatly, his eyes dark with resentment, and then he stalks off.

I stand there by the entrance, feeling the wind, dry and cool, picking up against my face. I feel like I've been hit by a rock. The blow didn't hurt me physically but the damage is inexpressible. Numb all over, completely losing my ability to feel, after Spike drove the nail to my heart. I should hate myself right now, beat it to a pulp, but all I feel is emptiness, and suddenly, I wish I just threw myself down the stairs yesterday and be done with all of this.

A gentle hand touches me, drawing me to the warmth inside. "Hey, was that Anya?" Willow asks, rubbing her thumb on my freezing arm.

I try to force a reassuring smile on my lips, but fail miserably. "Spike."

She eyes me with confusion. "What does he want?"

"Buffy is in a good place." I meet her eyes, noting the traces of disappointment overshadowing the shock.

Her expression melts down, and now she appears calmly resolved. "He told you."

I nod.

"How did he know?" she asks, sounding a little suspicious and not at all contently relieved with the information.

"I don't know. But he did, and I believe him." Not sure if her face is showing the relief I'm looking for, since my eyes are locked with Dawn's startled ones. She's standing there in the foyer, lips parted, physically frozen.

"Are you okay?" Willow asks, concerned.

Still holding the eye contact with Dawn, I shake my head, blinking back tears. "No."

* * *

Anya reads through the legal papers silently, her eyes going from left to right, making sure she doesn't skip any line. I can see why Giles credits Anya for his shop's success. She's attentive, always checking every detail before going through with something. I can see her becoming a successful businesswoman one day. She puts the papers on the table, fingers playing with the pen absently. She appears to be in deep thought, considering her next move. Her fingers hold the pen firmly before bringing it to the bottom of the paper and signing it.

Something tightens in my chest as I look at her signature with the ink still wet on the sheet. I place another legal paper in front of her. "Here, guess this is the last one."

She gives me a sympathetic stare. "Xander, we don't have to do this."

"I do, Anya. I don't have a job anymore, hence the no money issue, hence me needing to sell everything I own that's worth money."

"To me." Anya lifts a plucked eyebrow at me.

I grin sheepishly. "Yeah, I was hoping you'd keep them safe until I get back on my feet."

She smiles weakly and starts reading through the car lease. I take the opportunity to wander around the apartment for the last time. I haven't slept here once, and I've already sold it. It's a shame, it's one hell of an apartment, but I guess I was never meant to live in luxury. I walk out on the balcony, the sun warming my cheeks. Resting my elbows on the railing bars, I stare at the people strolling down the street. I wonder how many mornings Anya and I sat here.

Thinking about it, I pull one of the metal chairs and the small metal table to the railing bars. I concentrate, fingers pressing against my head, eyes squeezed shut willing my memory cells to work, and I sit, only I don't, I end up collapsing onto the chair, knocking the table and whatever is on it over.

"Are you okay?" Anya exclaims with concern as she peers from the inside.

I jump up to my feet, holding my hands up to reassure her. "I'm gonna pay for the damage, don't worry." Every piece of the chair is disconnected from the other. "Boy, have I gotten too fat?"

Anya chuckles. "No, it's missing a few spikes. You were going to fix it… before the amnesia."

"Oh." I'm missing one Spike, and I'm not going there. Over, remember? "So I'm not that fat?" I grin widely at her.

"You're a perfect size," she whispers forlornly, head leaning against the glass frame, eyes downcast and glassy.

I begin to scuff my toe on the floor as we stand there in awkward silence. I want this moment over and for her to sign the ownership of my car and for me to finish packing my stuff. I want out of here. I hate how much I'm hurting her.

"Guess I have to give this back," she says. I look up and my heart gives a huge leap. She's holding up her engagement ring to me.

I shake my head. "No, Anya…"

"Xander, it's meaningless now. And worth money, unless you bought me something cheap."

I snatch it from her fingers and examine it. "Oh, I hope not."

"Or you can give it to Spike." She quirks her brows in a suggestive manner, her voice dripping icicles without her noticing.

"Spike and I are over," I say quietly, still looking at the ring. Just the thought of Spike makes it hard to smile. I miss the days when we'd go out patrolling and end up harming each other. Hanging out with him was the best thing going on for me since I lost my memories. But then, he went and used that for his own benefit.

"Why?" Anya's question brings me back to reality and away from the image of Spike panting under me.

"Because… it was insane," I say, thinking about Spike's bedroom, the things we did, and I used to think Anya's sex toys were over-the-top. "I mean, he's a vampire."

"I was a vengeance demon."

"Yeah, was. Spike is, well, is." I enjoyed sex with a _vampire_ more than a currently human gorgeous woman. What does that say about me?

"Willow is a witch, and you like her just fine."

"Willow is also human," I point out, a little disturbed by how she's pushing the matter. "And why do you care so much about me getting it on with Spike?"

"Xander, look at me." I'm already looking at her, but I don't comment on it. "I own an apartment, a car, I have a great job. I get a lot of money." She grins the second she mentions the money; way to kick me in the nads there, Ahn.

Her wistful expression doesn't change, so I stomp an impatient foot on the floor. "Is there a point to all of this?"

She snaps to attention. "Right. All of that wouldn't have happened if it weren't for you. I was nothing and you turned me into something. Despite what happened between us, I love you and I want you to be happy."

I purse my lips in a thin line. "With a vampire? Who happens to be a guy?"

She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Pfft. Opposite sex relationships are so overrated." She grabs my shoulders and looks me in the eye. "Tell me, when you had sexual intercourse with him, tell me you didn't enjoy it?"

I jerk away from her hold. "Anya."

She grabs my shoulders again, and this time I can't free myself. "Tell me!"

I look away, she grabs my chin and forces me to look at her fierce eyes. I sigh in defeat. "I did."

She raises her eyebrows.

I roll my eyes and add, "Enjoy it."

She lets go of me and folds her arms confidently. "Then that's your answer."

"Sex holds that much weight for you, doesn't it?"

She twirls her lips. "Just get your stuff out of _my_ apartment."

I watch her leaving with a huff and shake my head at myself. Maybe that's why it's working better with Spike, he doesn't get offended easily. Enough thoughts about Spike and start working on getting out of here. I put the ring in my pocket and start walking to the bedroom.

I throw Anya a fleeting look on my way: she's busy reading the car lease while managing to look sulky.

I grimace at the boxes that need to be filled in the bedroom and go straight to the closet. I start tossing my clothes behind me without giving them a second look. I grab something soft like silk and fling it back, I know I didn't reach that stereotype-y level in my homosexuality. I turn around and look at the silk pajamas lying on the floor.

"I'm done," Anya announces, walking into the bedroom, stopping short when she sees me holding her pajamas.

"Nice PJs," I comment, holding them out for her.

She clutches them to her chest lovingly. "I was wearing this when you told me you loved me."

I frown in surprise. "I did?"

She nods. "It was very romantic."

She looks so vulnerable holding them like they're treasure. And I hate myself even more for not loving her back. "Anya…"

"If what you're going to say is one of those lame speeches about finding someone I deserve then keep it."

I shake my head. "No," I deny, lying, 'cause I was totally going to say that. "I just wanted to say if it weren't for this stupid amnesia, I'd be the happiest man alive." And I mean it, there'd be no way I had dated her for a whole two years and asked her to marry me if I didn't love her. The fact that she loves me so much makes me so upset with myself I'm thinking of knocking my head on every streetlamp on the way home.

She lifts sad eyes at me. "Your loss."

I try to smile, but I can't, because once I walk out of this apartment, I'll be losing everything about my perfect future.

* * *

Spike doesn't even act surprised when he finds me parked on his chair, TV as always opened, and yet not helping myself into any of his beers. But then, beer bottles are located underground and I don't think he'd appreciate it much if he finds me there, not after I accused him of taking advantage of me. I give him a little hand waggle, expecting any second now a remark about finding me here again, but he says nothing. He folds his arms and looks at me, waiting for an explanation to my presence.

"I'm not here for sex," I say after a long moment of silence

He quirks an eyebrow.

I drop my gaze to my hands on my lap. "I thought about it. What does the past have to do with the future, right?" I flash him one of my goofy grins that always manage to win Willow over; turns out, goofy grins don't really work on pissed off vampires. I clear my throat. "I mean, I had fun with you, you had fun with me," after a pause, I hastily add, "I hope. We can keep having fun together. Still not talking about sex here."

He purses his lips, not swayed by my argument.

I close my eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. "I was a jerk. I'm sorry. Boy, how many times I've been saying this lately."

"I'm guessing six, not including the bot." Spike pushes himself off the wall he's been leaning on and starts making his way to the TV. He switches the channel until Katie Holmes is on the screen. He walks to me, giving me a pointed stare, I jump up from the chair and he sits on it.

I start rubbing my hands nervously as he stuffs a hand in his pocket. "So? Forgive and forget?"

He gives me a casual glance. "Well, you have your amnesia bit."

"Not for so long," I point out. "Soon we'll find the demon and then I'll get my memories back."

His face darkens slightly. "Right." He takes his cigarette pack out of his pocket and flips it around in his hands, eyes riveted to the screen.

I shift my weight from foot to foot; the silence between us is getting painfully uncomfortable. I glimpse at the screen, a dramatic kissing scene with tears and heartbreak. I glance back at Spike; he's so engrossed in the scene you'd think he'll glue his face to the screen. "Are we cool?" I venture, wondering if he even heard me.

He doesn't answer right away, so I open my mouth to repeat the question when he parts his lips releasing clouds of smoke. "I'm cool. You're not. It's been this way for years."

I find myself smiling in relief. "Nice to see your biting sarcasm back, not as sharp as before, but better than nothing."

He gives me an annoyed stare, still holding the grey ash of his cigarette in his mouth. "So, when will this unpleasant visit be over?" he asks, letting the cigarette drop to the floor.

"C'mon, Spike, you obviously missed me." I want to sit on the arm of the chair, but Spike purposely shoves his elbow on it. "I mean that visit to the Summers' house yesterday? Oozed of yearning."

"Didn't," he protests. "Just wanted to make sure you lot will leave Buffy alone."

"That was a second thought. You came over because you wanted me to tag along."

"You're the ultimate demon punishing bag. I needed my laughs."

"Nothing's funnier than my arrow on your leg. Next time it may stick up something else."

"So would my stake."

"Which one?"

We pause at that, each one staring the other down, and then we break into huge smiles. Spike pulls another stick out of the cigarette pack and puts it in his mouth. He removes his elbow from the arm of the chair, an invitation to sit on it. I sit. He says nothing. A truce.

"Speaking of arrows, I'm supposed to shoot like a pro, but you saw how that went."

"You did leave a huge mess that night."

"Spike, I wasn't talking about sex."

"Me neither. I was talking about my leg." He throws me a glance. "And, yeah, about that, next time aim for the hole, not my clothes. The new bloke at the dry-cleaning is hard to scare."

I start to faintly remember when I had begged Giles to train me along with Buffy after Insect Lady tried to eat my head off, I desperately wanted to learn how to swing a kick. "I don't remember being interested in bows. How did that start?"

"This summer, you thought it would be better if you excelled at something, be more useful."

"And I chose bows and arrows? I mean swords, that's _Gladiator_." Reflecting a little on it, I ask, "Wait, who trained me?"

"You."

"Huh." I nod, impressed. "I'm so deep."

I lean back, not really focused on what's happening on screen, but being inwardly gleeful at my coolness. When I get my memories back, I'm gonna regain that coolness again, and everything will be great.

I start to wiggle with happiness, dismissing Spike's occasional glares. "So, wanna do something tonight?" I ask, giddy. "And don't say, "you," I'm talking outdoors fun."

Spike thinks, and then smirks. "I've got something in mind."

* * *

"That was a riot!" Spike hollers, grabbing the wheel, too excited he starts jumping on the driver seat.

I quickly shut the door to the passenger seat, panicked eyes darting at the bar, afraid the owner of the van will catch us stealing it. "What are you doing?" I snap at Spike, alarmed when the radio blares out loud. "Are you deliberately trying to get us caught?"

"Can't drive without loud music." He flashes me the hugest grin I've ever seen on his face. "Besides, it's better than hearing those kitties."

I look down at the mewing box under my feet. "Why are we taking them in the first place?"

"'Cause we won them."

"Will you ever explain the significance of the kittens we won unfair and square? Or would that be circle?"

Spike adjusts himself on his seat, starting the engine. "Oh, yeah, thanks for being my crow."

"Calling me a black bird makes me feel so appreciated."

I look out of the window at the fleeting streetlamps, wondering what the hell I'm doing putting my life in jeopardy. I throw my head back, feeling the kittens pumping against my feet. "I can't believe we're stealing a van."

"Don't worry, it's Jacob's."

"Oh, that's a relief, it's Jacob's," I say sarcastically. "Who's Jacob, Spike?"

"Parrot-faced demon. He stiffed me a couple of kittens."

I roll my eyes at him. However, I have to admit, I didn't like that bird demon. He kept threatening me with his beak and didn't appreciate my cracker jokes. "So, the plan is hiding the van?"

"No, we're selling it."

"Selling it?" I exclaim.

"I'm getting my money back." He gives me a look. "You daft or _slow_?"

"Hey, that's mean. I opened up to you and you throw that in my face."

I slump back against the passenger seat, my hand playing with the handle, pondering on opening it and throwing myself out. Suddenly, a horrible metal song ends and another song starts; like an inspiring bullet into my heart. It hits me, opening doors, widening my horizons and all that shit. Why the hell should I be boring-guy and stick to the rules? I should absolutely _get my freak on, go!_

My spirits are up high, I waggle on my seat. "I wish we had some beer."

Spike pushes aside the curtains and stacks of beers are filling the back of the car. Mouth dropped, I turn my face to Spike looking for an explanation.

"He steals beer, too."

"Viva la Jacob!" I grab a sack and set it on my lap. "You know, I've stolen a rocket launcher once."

Spike gives me a look.

"Just saying, this is not my first steal." I've already ventured into theft and the fact that Spike didn't pop that cherry fills me with contentment. I can't say the same about him, though, his joyful hollers and giddy dancing stopped at once at my revelation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

The first day of November is a rainy day. The sky is pouring down hard; it's like watching waterfalls and it's been that way the whole day. I'm spread out on the couch, my head leaning against the window glass, my dull eyes staring as the rain drops splattering against the window, some managing to slide down gingerly without being attacked by the downpour. I can hear the clicking of plates in the kitchen; Willow and Tara are making homemade burgers while gossiping about some wannabe witches in college. Dawn is upstairs, studying for a math test, so _The Whole Nine Yards_ will have to wait for tomorrow.

Still staring at the rain, I reflect back on my life in the past two months. I've been slacking off in a few fast food joints or reading new releases of comic books in libraries –I always get caught in comic book stores, so while the library's comic book collection is limited, it's still the best second thing. I always spend the five dollar allowance I take from either Willow or Giles on Twinkies and Mountain Dews. I try to avoid their pointed stares about the importance of getting a job. I've tried to work as pizza-delivery guy but I ended up sneaking those pizzas home and eating them with Dawn while watching movies. I got fired the second day. I pretended I got a job as a waiter in a steak and grill restaurant, returned home late at night, and found everybody waiting for me with sulky faces. They had gone to that restaurant to surprise me only to be told there was no waiter with the name Xander Harris. Giles had forced me to work with him at the Magic Box, but after selling an old woman something that caused her an allergic reaction Anya had nagged Giles to have me 'pink-slipped'. She was so proud she learned that word from an online dictionary website.

It wasn't all bad though. For most of my nights, I get to have rocking-socks sex with Spike while hitting filthy bars and getting in touch with my alcoholic side. Obviously I've inherited my booze streak from the folks because I can't manage to have a day pass by without drinking some liquor. Once, Spike and I had drunken our asses off and stopped by my parents' house. The disappointed stares I got kind of shocked me - you'd think a couple of John Barleycorn fanatics would yell hooray seeing their only son following in their footsteps.

Spike had also taught me how to ride his motorcycle and I can proudly say that I've done it without wearing the helmet once. Spike had shaken his head in disgust at my glee but Dawn's squeals were enough for my growing ego. Speaking of Dawn, she had given me valuable lessons in shoplifting. She said she'd been doing it since Joyce died and that I wouldn't believe the things she'd stolen from me. When I used to work at the Magic Box, I had snuck her into the basement a few times. She'd steal some charms and herbs and we'd pretend to be lesbian witches in her room. Silly, but fun, especially when I get to imitate Tara, which offends Dawn because she likes her for some weird reason.

The sudden blaze of the lightening brings me back to the now, I brush my fingers on the watch I had stolen from some cheap store, my eyes starting to well with tears. Nights like this one, when I'm sitting alone and gazing at nothing are always the worse, because then I'll be forced to think. And when I think, I realize it's been months and my memories are still lost, and then I lose interest and start looking for Spike to get some action; mostly mind-blowing shags. They help me forget and be sane again. Sometimes when I remember, I can't help but grab Dawn and head to the nearest grocery store and swipe whatever we want. The five dollars I'm getting from Willow –Giles deciding I'm not worth it- are about forty dollars now, all thanks to my pretty, leggy, shiny-hair merry gentlewoman. She taught this Oliver well.

I rub my thumb on my eye when I feel a tear sliding down. I'm drowning, I'm aware of it, I'm losing my grip. I just can't bring myself to care. I know the demon is out there, I know some day we're going to find it, and I think that's why I'm not bothering. Some day my memories will be back and then everything is going to be all right.

When thunder roars, I notice a shadow of a man standing behind the fence, fierce blue eyes staring right at me. The flashes of the lightening paint his face white, showing off his serious expression. I jump to the door in an instant and the second I open it, Spike is right there, dripping from head to toe. My eyes are caught by a small drop of water on his eyelash.

I open the door more, stepping aside, but he doesn't walk in. He blinks his eye and the raindrop slides down his cheekbone and stops on his lips. I watch them stir, but I don't hear his voice, I just read them in my stunned state.

"I found the demon."

* * *

The rain has stopped when we reach the cave. We handed our wet umbrellas to Tara and she placed them behind a tree. Everybody managed to be here, even Anya, who probably thinks getting back my memories will restore our dead relationship. We wait outside for Spike, who went in to wake the demon up from its winter's nap and kick its fangs out of its cave and right into my skin. Dawn, huddled in her reddish jacket, starts humming low in her throat. Willow and Tara had insisted she should stay home and keep studying, but like the pro she is, she used her mom and Buffy's deaths to get out of it.

My senses jerk when I hear Spike snarl a curse and then a gigantic demon flies out of the cave.

"Well done, Spike," Giles exclaims. "Now, Xander, go stand... Xander?" He turns left and right looking for me until he spots me hiding behind Willow.

I cling to her like a child clings to his mother on his first day in kindergarten –and I'm not talking about myself here. I went into that kindergarten with my head up high… until Billy the bully smacked it down to the mud. "You didn't tell me this thing is so mammoth-sized," I whine, feeling myself being yanked by Anya and pushed directly at the demon.

It growls at me and I fall on my butt.

It looms over me, showing off different dangling bits similar to testicles, and then it launches at me. I snap my eyes shut, waiting for the pain, but instead of feeling it, I hear shouts and curses. I open my eyes and notice Buffybot spinning and lashing out at the demon with a kick. She pounds him hard. "Don't," kick, "you," kick, "dare," kick, "touch," kick, "Xander!"

I jump to my feet and wave at her. "No, Buffybot, it's okay, he can touch me! Let him touch me!"

"I'll take issue with that," Spike comments next to me.

"This isn't the time, Spike!"

Hearing a loud crunching of metal, I note Spike's eyes going horror-stricken wide. We both whip our heads toward the sound; Buffybot had thrown the demon directly at Spike's motorcycle.

"My bike!" Spike roars, already pouncing at the demon.

I grab onto his duster as tightly as possible. "You can steal another one later," I grit my teeth, finally pushing him to the ground. "That demon is my only chance to…"

"No!" Willow's sudden shout makes me turn my eyes to the demon. Heart leaping, I see Buffybot stabbing it everywhere.

"Die, demon, die!" she hollers, bringing the blade into the demon's flesh.

"No, no, no, no, no," all of us yell as we race toward her, attempting to stop her from stabbing it to death.

Too late. Forming a circle around the still corpse of the demon, we stare down at it with wide eyes.

"She killed it," I squeak.

"Can't say that I'm sorry," Spike grunts.

I shoot him daggers, and then turn my furious eyes at Willow and Giles. "Who gave her the sword?"

"Uh… we thought it's better for her to have the freedom of choice," Willow stammers.

"Builds character," Giles adds.

"Robots don't have character, it's in the definition."

"Xander, don't be a robotist," Dawn tsks at me.

"Guys, don't you get it? The demon is dead!" I snap at them.

"Thanks to me," Buffybot chimes proudly.

Faster than a wink, Spike wraps his arms around my waist to keep me in place while the others pull Buffybot away from my reach.

Giles shakes his head. "Honestly, Xander, it's not the end of the world."

"What do you know? You're not the one with a four years memory gap."

Anya sighs. "And I thought this would be our chance to get back together."

"Yes, you are the issue here!" The anxiety is apparent in my tone, which even I realize is verging into snappish.

"As well as your memories," Buffybot points out.

Spike tries his best to keep a strong hold on my fired up body. "Take it easy, mate. As much as I hate agreeing with Watcher Boy here, it's not the end of the sodding world."

I turn my frustrated gaze at him, upset he doesn't get it as well. "Spike, I was counting on this. In the past couple of months, all I think about is 'life sucks, but the second I get those memories back it'll be great again.' But, now…" I trail off, looking at the dead demon, willing him with my desperate gaze to rise up alive again.

I feel Spike's hands loosening their tight grip on my waist and I turn sad eyes at him. "I don't wanna spend the rest of my life drinking myself silly in bars, it was supposed to be temporary, a way to cope." I take off the watch and toss it toward Dawn. "I wanna be able to buy the stuff, not steal them. I wanna be that respectable guy again. I wanna be me."

Tara casts her wide, shocked eyes at Dawn. "You're stealing?"

"Bigger problems at hand, Tara." Dawn slips the watch into her pocket, pointing at me. "Xander lost his memories for good."

I stare at their faces, something clenching at my throat. "You guys will never understand."

"Xander," Spike says.

I jerk his hand away and start storming off. "Leave me alone!"

* * *

It's a cold night, like every night in November, especially after a heavy rain. A cool breeze blows deftly through the tree, moving its leaves and branches in an even rhythm. Beneath the shadows cast by moonlight on the bushes, I notice a dirty dog shivering in the cold, trying to get as much warmth as possible by gluing itself against the tree. Alone, frozen, numb, a few seconds from freezing to death.

I shift slightly when hit by a sudden flow of wind, not bothering to go inside and fetch for another coat. Preferring to sit on the back steps and stare at the abandoned dog; glad that none of them is back home yet. It leaves me free for my thoughts.

Now, thoughts, what thoughts, mopey thoughts. I'm officially lost forever. There's no way to make me remember again. Four years of my life went like a flash, filled with so many changes I can't comprehend. Old faces left and new faces appeared, some even mystically. Missing four years is hard enough in a regular life, but it's twice harder in mine. My best friend used to be this nervous, shy girl with net addiction. Now, she's some powerful witch, in love with another witch, barely uses her own laptop – I'd call it Dawn's to be honest – and she lost her timidity, developing a strong, confident persona. I don't mind. Actually, I'm glad Willow is more confident now; just wish I was present through all of her changes.

Then you have Giles, who's decided to pack his bags and fly back to dear homeland. Buffy is dead and replaced by the robot that wrecked my only chance of ever being happy again.

"Hey," the quiet voice comes from the right side of the house. Tara is peering through the corner with a warm smile, not warm enough to melt the ice inside me. I'm not in the mood, so I don't greet back or acknowledge her. My eyes are on Tony the dog –yes, called it Tony, 'cause I hate both Dad and my former boss.

She sits next to me on the steps, bringing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. She says nothing, just sitting there. Getting a little uncomfortable, I venture a glance at her to find she's staring up at the stars, a content smile on her lips. Silence overtakes us and I might have forgotten she's sitting next to me if it isn't for her hip pressing against mine.

"Next week is my birthday," she says in hushed tones, finally breaking the quiet.

My insides scream at how rude that sounded under the circumstances, but my mouth remains shut. I'm afraid if I talk, she'll stay longer.

"I'm excited about it this year."

I say nothing, hoping she'll take the hint and leave.

"Last year, I was dreading it. I was told that every woman in my family has evil inside of her, but only when she turns twenty the true face of the demon appears. I was really scared of how you guys would react when you saw what I really am. Then my dad showed up with my brother and cousin, demanding to take me home before I cause any damage."

I'm not sure if Tony managed to sleep or not, I'm not looking at him anymore. I'm not looking at Tara either, but I'm listening to her.

"My brother threatened to beat me down if I don't come with them, and then you…"

She pauses. I turn my eyes to her; she has a genuine smile on her face. "You swore on his beard you'd break something in him if he tried to hurt me. You made him back off like a real brother would do."

Her brother has a beard? Uh, not the point, dim-wit.

"I was really touched. All of you just accepted me as part of you, defended me against my blood kin. Even when you thought I was a demon, you still came through for me."

"Thought?" I utter my first word since she came. "You mean you're not…"

Tara gives a lopsided smile. "Turns out it was only a lie the men in my family created to keep the women in line."

I shake my head, looking at her sympathetically. Between my drunken dad, Buffy's divorcé dad, and Willow's absent dad, Tara's is by far the worst.

She lets go of her knees, and shifts her body until she's facing me. A serious look covers her face. "Xander, you may not know us well, but we love you. If you want us to fill you in on everything that had happened in the last four years, then that's what we're gonna do." The warm smile is back and this time, the ice gradually melts. "I'm ready to skip classes. That's how much I love you."

I feel a lump in my throat, trying my hardest not to wail in front of her. "I was so horrible to you," I admit tightly, a muscle in my jaw working.

"You were desperate for things to remain the same. I get that. I'm not holding any grudges." She reaches with hesitant fingers and touches my shoulder tenderly. "Besides, Xander-with-memories liked me just fine. You guys are the same person."

I scoff. "That guy also hated Spike's guts."

"And you're in love with him."

Her serious expression makes me burst laughing. "Let's not jump the gun here."

I catch affection in her eyes, and she smiles faintly. "I can tell, it's in your aura."

"You're a hippie, too?"

The hand caressing my shoulder starts to squeeze. "Spike is a good guy."

"He's teaching me how to smoke. And he's making me cheat at kitten poker."

"I didn't say he's a perfect guy."

"Besides, he's got the whole soulless vampire thing going for him. What does it say about me? Being involved with someone like that?"

She shrugs. "Lucky?"

I stare at her without blinking.

"You're obviously happy with him. Dating a normal guy or girl isn't really the essence to happiness."

Biggest example is my parents. Others are Cordelia and Anya, post-amnesia for Anya. Guess I'm meant to date freaks of nature.

Just as I think that, Spike is standing outside the fence, just like when I caught him before the disappointing demon hunt. Eyes locked, grim expressions meeting each other.

I'm not blind. Spike has been such a bad influence on me lately, but he was also the guy who appeared to care the most. He doesn't seem like a guy who gives a crap about anyone: he only seems to like Dawn, others be damned. Then came me, waltzing in with my memory loss and desperation for a buddy. Desperation for platonic buddiness turns into bunny humping in a matter of days.

A small smile forms on my lips, and instead of smiling back, Spike turns away and scuffs a, "Ponce," under his breath. My smile grows bigger.

* * *

The bronze is crowded as usual. Only this time, it's mostly crowded with Tara's friends celebrating her twenty-first birthday. Apparently, we had her birthday here last year; it's the only decent club in town, Tara said. The whole place is decorated with paper lanterns and streamers. Colored balloons are in every corner, party hats on every head.

Except Spike's.

I grin as he makes his entrance, striding with his head thrusting forward and his duster flapping behind him. He gives Dawn a nod as she drags her friend to show her the goodness that is Spike. Her friend ducks her head bashfully, and I can see Spike going for the sexy smirk, he still likes that he has a good effect on the ladies. I'm not sure I do, though.

"Spike!" I call on the top of my lungs.

He grins when he sees me but gives me the 'wait' hand gesture.

I tap a foot impatiently on the floor, watching him make that poor girl more uncomfortable with his British accent and shameless flirting. Dawn catches my gaze and I narrow my eyes at her threateningly. She pretends she didn't notice me by looking elsewhere, her finger rubbing her upper lip.

Eventually, Spike gives her his trademark smile and stalks towards me, of course twirling his duster for extra sexy points. He detects my displeased expression once he reaches me. "Why the long face?" he asks, not at all hiding his amusement.

"Must you corrupt little girls?" I ask, totally hiding my annoyance.

"Mentally, you're a year older than them. Does that make you a little boy?"

"Piss off!"

"Oooh, bad me, little boy picked up a bad word."

The best solution is to ignore him, but I'm too childish to do so. So, I give him an angry, strong punch on the shoulder. He laughs. I'm more pissed.

My party hat slips a little and I push it back to place. I indicate at Spike's head. "Where's your hat?"

"Got an image to keep." He glances at the glasses in the table next to us. "Hate it here. They only serve beer."

"It's a teen club, Spike, where no teen can drink."

"Then it's time to grow up. This bloody party should've been in a basement, bunch of drinking and getting snockered, I'm thinking large quantities of Everclear Jell-O shots."

"Just get a beer." I turn away from the pastry counter carrying a soda. With an annoyed sigh, Spike follows and we start threading our way toward an open table.

We sit on the opposite side of each other. "Glad you came," I say. "All these Wiccans and college smarties, I'm starting to feel like an outcast here." I swallow some of my refreshing soda then smack my lips together.

"Rather get shagged instead." He gives a suggestive leer.

Tempting, but so unlikely; Willow had put her heart and soul into this party. If I leave, it'll be me and coal black eyes facing each other all night long. I can't risk it. I put the bottle down, and something springs to my mind at the mention of sex. "Hey, I never asked you about this. Remember our first time, the me-too-drunk one? Since you weren't so out of it that night, care to tell me how we started jazzing?"

Spike grabs my soda and takes a sip, his face congests with disgust, and he returns it to me. I lift up my eyebrows, waiting for his answer; he stares at me with a dumb expression for seconds, and then, "Oh. Yeah, you came on to me."

I glare. "Liar."

"I'm not. Actually, you were throwing yourself at me, and I say that literally. I thought you were trying to kill me, 'til I realized it was you jumping my bones."

I give him my best mystified face before I shake my head. "No, no, no, you're doing the lying thing again, you took advantage of me in my wasted state. Now that I can believe."

Spike rolls his eyes. "Really, mate, would I make a move on you?"

I point a finger, about to say something. I stop, considering what he said, and then slump back to my chair, head downcast. "Point."

"You're not much of a looker," Spike elaborates. "You're big-mouthed, you're gauche, and the way you fight…"

"I get it, Spike, I'm a loser."

"But, that night, you were on fire," Spike goes on as if I hadn't interrupted him. He stares at space with a dreamy look. "Saw you in a new light."

My lips are set in a thin line, my fingertips pressed to the table. "What do you know, Anya did have a point. Sex is everything."

Enthusiastic, Spike gets up, pulls his chair and places it next to mine. He's too excited he almost jammed the foot of the chair on my toe; I snap my legs back, successfully averting a painful accident. Spike sits on the chair, and my eyes at still staring with dread at the place where my foot was. "Let's go to my crypt, get you pissed, I'm in a mood for something wild."

I glance at Willow and Tara laughing with a bunch of their college friends. "I can't leave Tara's party."

"Why not? You done with the whole song and cake bit, right?" he asks, I hesitantly nod. "That's the highlight of the evening. Nothing else happens."

"It's not about what happens next, Spike. It's about being there for a friend."

Spike purses his lips and sits back, dissatisfied. "Said Xander the Uptight." He looks with disgust at teens grouped in a booth, chatting with excitement. "And I thought the blackout would make you more loosened up."

"I've loosened up enough for my own good," I say pointedly.

"Not enough."

"What's next? Smoking heaps of weed?" I shake my head, bringing the soda to my lips.

"Not what I meant." He leans forwards again and snatches the soda from my hands. "And you only went crazy on liquor because of the depression."

"I didn't have depression," I protest.

"Right," Spike drawls. "Anyway, it wasn't about loosening up. Wasn't about fun. Just self-pity bollocks."

I pout. "I'm not uptight."

"Then act up. For once in your pathetic life do something crazy."

I turn away from him, my eyes on the teens and young adults dancing together, laughing, happy. Bodies moving to the music, pressed up against each other, like a Rickey Martin video. Nothing on their minds but having fun and chilling out, reminds me of the last time I went to the Bronze as a teenager. Buffy, Willow and I dancing together, Buffy moving lithely, Willow timidly, and I was just shaking and swaying with the music, getting into the rhythm. It never mattered how goofily I danced, all that mattered was being with my friends, joking, feeling content with myself.

My fingers entwined Spike's, eyes still on the dancers. "Let's dance."

Spike frees his hand from my hold. "That's not what I meant."

I ignore him and head straight to the dance floor. Taking a deep breath, I bob my head to the beat and start shifting my weight between my legs. Soon, I throw my hands in the air, losing myself into the music. I spin twice until I'm facing Spike, his mouth and eyes wide open with horror. "What's the deal, Spike?" I shout, jerking my arms left and right, head banging all the way.

Spike, paralyzed in place, is knocked off by a couple dancing as fast as I am. "Hey, watch it," the boy snaps at Spike. "People are dancing here. Go sit in a booth of something."

I stride towards the curly haired jerk and poke him on the shoulder. "Hey, nobody sits Baby in the booth!"

We stare at each other before cracking up. Even his girlfriend is bursting into laughter. Spike narrows his eyes at me and then stalks off. I catch up with him before he leaves the dance floor and swirl him around until we're face to face, his eyes speaking volumes.

"Hey, when did you become sensitive?" I ask, stifling a giggle. "C'mon, show me your dance moves." I pull him back to the center, and I start dancing.

His bored eyes are following my moves, which I can proudly state are similar to Carlton's from the _Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_.

"C'mon, Spike!"

"You look dumb."

"But I feel great!" My hands fly to the right while I kick a leg to the left, doing the opposite inelegantly.

"You almost kicked that bloke."

"I don't care. I can do whatever I want. I'm free." I spin as much as possible, until I start swaying dizzily. Spike grabs my shoulders to steadies me. "No fiancées, no rent to pay, no job to wake up to, nothing," I breathe out the words with a dopey smile plastered on my face.

A flash of concern crosses Spike's eyes. "Xander."

I release myself from his grip, shrug, and then return back to dancing. "It's perfect. I'm exactly right where I left off, the same high school loser with nothing to look forward to. Except I'm older and my friends are way, way ahead of me." I spin again, more than once, more than twice. Hearing the beat of drums, I kick a foot up in the air. Feeling a cramp in my thigh, as well as the banging headache in my head, I sink to the ground.

With a weary sigh, Spike flings me on his shoulder, walking to our table. He drops me on my chair and pushes the soda into my mouth. After a few swallows, he takes it away and sets it on the table. "What's up?" he asks, one elbow on the table and the other on the back of his chair.

I drop my gaze, my fist shaking on the table. "What's the point?" I nod to Willow and Tara talking to their friends. "Look at them. College studs, knowing where they're heading. Less than two months from now I'm gonna turn twenty-one, and I'm at zilch. I've got no job, I'm living off my friend's money, I'm living in my friends' home, and I don't pay rent. I've gotten so incompetent at everything."

"Yet you bugger like a minx."

I smack my fist on the table, my angry eyes boring Spike's impassive face. "Will you take this seriously? My only chance to get my memories back is gone! Those four years will be a blank for the rest of my life."

"I say hooray," Spike spits out, unmoved by my rant. I stare at him in shock, not believing that he just said that. He stands bolt up, walking in a frustrated circle before looking down at me. "I'm not gonna sit here and pretend to be sad for your sodding memories. What if you got them back and returned to being that same ponce you once were?"

My emotions blunted, I regard him like I expected nothing else from him.

"Besides, what will those memories serve anyway?" He grabs my soda and drinks from it again, and then spits it distastefully, making 'blah' faces. He returns the bottle to the table and pushes it my way, expression still grossed out. I open my mouth about to comment, but then he holds a hand up. "You said it," he says in a choked voice, looking like he's about vomit. "You lost everything that made you that bloke, how about starting new memories? Starting with what you know best?"

I give him a bleak look. "My skills in bed?"

"After zillions glasses of beer." He gags, pointing at the soda. "And none of this."

I look at the ceiling irately. "Great, even sex I can't do perfectly on my own."

"How about whining? You got that down to the beat."

I switch my glare from the ceiling to him.

He tilts his head, purses his lips, appearing deep in thought. Eventually he sighs, looking at me gravely, like he's going to reveal the world's biggest secret. "When the wankers put this bloody chip in my head, I literally lost it all. Lost my bite, everybody's respect, lowlifes started tossing me out of bars just for the kick of it. I was on top, and then…"

"You became nothing," I interrupt in hushed tones.

Spike grabs my shoulder tightly, forcing me to look him in the eyes. "But I never let it get to me. Tried to make the best of it." He sits back on his chair. "And that's what you're going to do."

My eyes are locked with his, and the heavy ball inside softens. I give a simple smile. "Well, so far, getting laid is the best thing that ever happened to me since the amnesia."

Spike slaps his palm on the table. "Finally, some sense into that thick head of yours."

I stare at him for a while, reflecting on the last few months we spent together. The great amounts of alcohol, the great number of sex, the poker cheating –and getting caught that one time- I realize deep down that Spike wasn't just being a bad influence on me. We were in it together, and Spike needed to lose himself as much as I did. We were both drowning and we found each other. It never ceased to amaze me how much Spike loved Buffy.

"Do you have beer?" I ask in a low voice.

"Always," he replies with an attractive smirk, pushing his chair back, grabbing my hand and pulling me up.

"Spike…" I say, stopping him from dragging me to the exit. "I'm…"

"You can save the mush for the bed."

"No mush, just… I'm glad to find someone who understands."

His blue eyes bores into me, and I can see it all, old pain, betrayals, abandonment. So familiar, draws me to him even more.

"Me too, mate," he replies in a voice as low as mine.

* * *

I have a job. I started my first day today. I'm back to the working field. No more mooching off Willow's five dollars a day anymore. Or maybe I will, because the pay isn't much. Combining my salary with Willow's five dollars will make for a good enough cash. Unless, Willow cuts me off. She's still got that whole responsible mother thing going on, and she's been practicing it on me more than Dawn lately. She said that boys need more supervising because they tend to act stupid more often than girls. Sexism works both ways, Will!

I heave a sigh, glancing up at the huge board with 'Doublemeat Place' glittering in all its glory.

I hang my head in shame. From a respectful head of a construction crew to a guy wearing a cow hat servicing junk-food addicts, I'm not sure if I can ever recover from this fall. According to Willow, that's how I started: from one stupid job to another until I found my calling, which apparently isn't teenage Xander's calling.

I drag my legs to the Summers' house, holding on to my jacket that covered the top half of my humiliating work uniform. I promised Spike I'm going to see him tonight, but there's no way I'm going to let him see me in this. My ego is bruised enough already.

I hear some clicking in the alley close by, and my hand automatically searches for a stake, patting repeatedly on my side. I didn't bring a stake, I was afraid of giving an impression at my first day. Getting fired from the Doublemeat Palace would be the final kick.

I tiptoe silently, heart racing with nerves, and peer down the alley. There's a washed up, homeless guy surrounded by dumpsters; he's sitting unevenly on top of a box, failing to light a cigarette.

I stare closely, trying to make out if this guy is a vampire, and then think a better plan is to just get the hell out of here.

"Hey," the guy calls the second I turned away.

I look at him, his face is very familiar but I don't step into the alley. "What?"

He holds up his lighter. "Would you give me a hand?" he slurs, apparently too drunk. It's probably a trick: he's pretending to be helpless and the whole heavy breathing is an act, too. Spike tends to breathe heavily during sex, says it makes him sexy, I agree.

"Please," the guy sounds desperate. He tries to move, but ends up falling on the ground.

A voice inside tells me he's human. I decide to trust that voice, so I move closer to him. I help him stand up, we're not exactly a similar height, but his face is clearer now that the shadows around it ceased to exist. I let a sharp gasp. "Jimmy Blaisdell. You're Larry's brother."

He keeps on swaying as he tries to speak, "My brother… yes, I remember him."

I wince, recalling when Willow filled me in of the details of our graduation ceremony. "Sorry you lost your brother. I heard he went down fighting."

"Yeah, that high school was shit. Good riddance." He flutters with his lighter again. I can see an end of a bruise from under his sleeve and can't ignore his worn out state any longer.

"What happened to you?"

"Changed courses. Didn't work out. I'm flunking college."

"You're still in college?" I sneer. Yeah, well, he'd ratted me out to his brother and he was with the bunch who laughed at me at that frat party. I add a scoff just for good major.

"It's not working out." His cigarette falls down and he tries to get out another one from the packet. "Saw Tackle Carter in the newspaper today."

I stare with fascinated glee at the cigarette stick dancing between his fingers before it bounced off. "Who's Tackle Carter?" I ask, not hiding my snicker.

"He's becoming a successful businessman." A bitter laugh breaks away. "Guy gets bailed out of jail and gets to be a big shot. Small people like us live decently and end up smoking nicotine on a dumpster," his voice caught at the last part, he looks up, tears rimming his eyes.

Something squeezes in my chest; I feel his bitterness as I glance at my visible red pants. "I'm sorry," I mumble under my breath, not sure if I'm apologizing for acting like a jerk or for our similar situation.

"Yeah." He shakes his head sullenly, still looking at me. His eyes narrow slightly. "Do I know you?"

I force a smile. "Xander Harris. You probably never heard of me…"

"Xander," he breathes out my name in awe, eyes widening with appreciation. "You're the guy who helped Larry come out."

"Larry is gay?" Willow forgot to mention that. God, now I wish I could go back in time and throw it in his face –not that I disrespect gays or think they're worth mocking, but everything is fair game when dealing with a homosexual homophobic bully. Besides, I'm gay, too. I think. I still find girls attractive. But find Spike more appealing. It's complicated, the way my life always is.

Jimmy gives me an affectionate smile. "He talked about you all the time."

"Larry talked about me all the time," I repeat, incredulous.

He smiles in confirmation, which I find spooky. I remember Jimmy when we were in high school. He's three years older than me and he used to be as much of a bully as his brother. The fact that we're having a nice chat puts creepy on a whole new level. Suddenly, his smile turns into a burst of giggles, which creeps me even more. He points at me, swaying in his drunken condition. "Hey, you're that high school nerd in the frat party. With the bra." His gale of giggles increase and I regret my earlier moment of compassion.

"Yeah, I remember, Jimmy," I say flatly.

He sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Must eat you up, about Tackle?"

Again with Tackle, who the hell is this guy and why would it...

Thoughts pause. Eyes widen. "Wait, Tackle was one of those Delta Zeta Kappa guys?"

"He's the one who made you wear the wig."

"I knew it!" I smack the dumpster with my fist. I shake my stinging hand. "Ouch!" Watching the scratches on my knuckles, I realize how unfair life can be. I blow on my knuckles to ease the pain, and then look away. "Those guys will always win."

"Want a smoke." Jimmy, already seated on his box, holds up a cigarette for me.

"No." I wave it off with my good hand. "But I'll be getting drunk soon."

Pissed off, I start towards the street, but then remember that I promised to light Jimmy his cigarette. I turn around and take the lighter from his fumbling hands. He smiles up at me and then holds up his cigarette.

The second I flick the lighter, I'm hit by a weird feeling, like I've seen this before. It's like a vague feeling of déjà vu. I stare at the small flame coming from the lighter, hearing a soft "thanks" that sounds nothing like Jimmy. Jimmy's bandaged hands holding the cigarette reminding me why I'm standing in a dark alley with a lighter in my hands.

I hesitantly move the flame closer to the butt of his cigarette, disturbed by the weird feeling capturing me. My eyes dart up to his face and in a blink of an eye I see Spike, just for a small second. I close my eyes shut, and then open them, but it's Jimmy in front of me.

My eyes snap down at his hands, they're not bandaged.

My hands tremble slightly, losing their grip on the lighter. My breath caught in my throat, I close my eyes shut, forcing my brain to bring that flash back. Spike appeared different, so worn out, bruised –I've never seen him like that before. I try to concentrate, fingers pressed on my temple, when were Spike's hands bandaged? Some time before the amnesia, some place we've been to together, some adventure we've went through.

My mind keeps repeating the soft whispered "thanks," over and over, desperately trying not to forget it.

It's a memory. So short, so small, but I have it.

I remembered.

I let out a sharp gasp, inhaling Jimmy's smoke into my lungs, my heart calling for Spike. "God." I blink at Jimmy's content face, too busy smoking to notice me. "I… I gotta go."

I stumble out of the alley, my feet running without control of me. My mind races, repeating the "thanks" again and again, the way it was softly spoken, filled with courtesy and appreciation. I keep running at blinding speed, passing the houses, streets, straight to the cemetery. I jump a tombstone, fall on my face, but it doesn't stop me. I crawl a little on the grass before I push myself up and keep running.

I push the metal doors open. I push the wooden door open.

"Spike!" I shout, my breath coming in great gulps. He's smoking on his chair, I grab his shoulders, standing him up, and staring into his amused eyes. "Spike, I lit your cigarette. It was you, I lit your cigarette!"

He blinks, stares down at the cigarette between his fingers, looks back at me with a frown. "Thought we solved this mystery yesterday. On bed, my hands handcuffed, you lighting my fag."

I slap the back of his head. "No, fang-face, I'm talking about before the memory loss. Your hands were patched up. You couldn't light it. I helped. I remember." I find myself hopping from foot to foot, unable to stop, my eyes wide with excitement.

"And?"

I stop hopping. "Huh?"

"That's all you remember?"

"Yes," I say carefully, my spirits falling all of a sudden. With furrowed eyebrows, I slap the back of his head again. "Hey, don't ruin the moment. It's a huge deal. Who knows what I'll remember next."

Spike rubs his head, stepping away from me. "At least you remembered a good moment."

I wipe the sweat from my forehead. "Yes, right, good moment. And I thought all we had in the past was bloodshed."

"We had some good moments." He takes another cigarette, crocks his head and lights it. "There was that _Star Trek_ marathon. Uh... we shared a bowl of onion rings. We played pool. You won."

I fold my arms, studying him as he takes a drag from his cigarette. "I used the _Star Trek_ marathon to torture you, didn't I?"

His lips part slightly, releasing a long line of smoke. "Uh…"

"And that list is not accurate. I know I hate onion rings."

He shrugs, tossing his cigarette to the floor and stepping on it. Suddenly, his face lights up.

"Almost forgot." He grabs my shoulders and seats me on the chair. "Sit here. Close your eyes."

I'm about to protest, but he palms my mouth and gives me one of his scary looks, which intimidates me even with that chip in his head. He'd probably play some prank with those drinks and I'm not taking any chances. I close my eyes obediently, wondering what he's got prepared for me. Is he going to strip naked with a red rose caught between his teeth? Dawn once mentioned it was sexy and it gave Spike ideas, which I didn't mind, except for the one of using the rose to stretch me up. I won't like it if the thorns embedded my hole.

"No peeking."

Gotta be something else. Naked Spike is most likely, but it won't be just that. He's going to do something else, something thrilling and embarrassing at the same time. I won't put it past Spike, to this day I never let him tie me to bed, I know he's going to leave me there for hours after sex is over. Maybe get Willow here and make us both feel awkward and avoid each other for days.

"Now open them."

I snap my eyes open and look at an orange and white cake with 'Doublemeat Medley' written with frosting cream. A sloppy picture of a cow on top of the writing with a couple of candles; one is number one the other is number two arranged to form twenty-one. "Who told you?" I hiss, my cheeks filled with blood. "It's Dawn, isn't it?"

"Take off that coat," Spike orders with a mischievous smirk.

I hold on to my coat, covering myself even more. "No."

"Let me see it."

"No, and my birthday is in late December. Way late. Five weeks later."

"We're celebrating in advance. On the real one, we're off to Vegas."

"Will there be strippers?" I ask with interest.

"Yours truly," he says with a charming smile.

"I think I'd prefer the stripper galore."

Spike places the cake on the table and approaches me, leering at me. "Now since you're officially over-age." I roll my eyes. "We're starting off by getting you legally drunk." He gently cups my cheek, his other hand moving slyly to my back and grabbing my backpack. He quickly stuffs his hand in it and gets out my work hat. "And you get to wear this hat."

"No!" I scream, trying to snatch the hat out of his hands. He dodges my attack, spinning until he's behind me, shoving the hat on my head and swiftly slipping my coat off me. I twirl around, wincing at the look on his face. I obviously look ridiculous with my bright red pants and the red-and-white striped shirt. The stuffed cow head on top of my hat is the most humiliating part, though.

Spike holds his chin with his fingers, whistling as he examines me. "Quite the vision."

Angry, I toss away the hat and start taking off my shirt. "Tomorrow, I'm gonna take a picture of you in one of my old Hawaiian shirts and I'll make sure Jacob, Clem and the rest of the fellows get copies of it."

Spike makes a face. "Not wearing that again."

My mouth drops. "Again?" A grin blossoms in my lips when Spike curses under his breath. "Wow, you wearing my shirt? The signs were there all along."

He pouts, looking funny doing it. "You let me sleep on a chair."

"You probably pissed me off."

"You tied me up."

"Another sign," I point out, and then start imitating Cordelia, "We're SO meant to be."

Spike raises a finger and a thumb forming an L on his forehead, the legitimate 'loser' sign. "Duh!"

I'm still grinning over the revelation. "God, I'm picturing you wearing the Hawaiian shirt right now. Was it orange?"

"No."

"Red?"

"No."

"Green?"

"No."

I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingers on my temples as if I'm massaging my head from a sharp headache. I try my hardest to concentrate, but the harder I try, the dizzier I get, especially after a long day of flipping burgers I'm not allowed to eat. I picture Spike, naked, and paste a picture of my blue Hawaiian shirt on his chest, but instead of willing my memories to rush back, I find myself focusing on what's uncovered under the shirt.

Strong hands grab mine and force them down to my sides. I'm face to face with a very fed up Spike. "Xander, one memory a day."

A dopey smile spreads of my face. "I remembered."

He lets go of me with an eye roll. "Let's get drinking."

I watch him bring over the bottles he'd arranged for the night, but my mind isn't anywhere near alcohol. I'm still excited over the fact that I remembered, even if it was just a fragment of a moment. "Maybe if I tried harder, I'll remember something else."

"Great. Think about it tomorrow when you're bored at work."

"No, Spike, this is important."

"Sex is more important." He arranges the bottles on the table before he starts opening them.

I ignore him and try to focus again. "Let's see, I was lighting your cigarette because your hands were bandaged. And we were in a dark place. What were we doing there?"

"Shagging the lives out of each other."

"No, seriously."

Spike sits back on his butt, legs crossed, his lips twisting in boredom. "We were running away from Glory."

I frown. "Why would we run away from glory?"

"The God."

"Oh. With Dawn being the green key thing, yeah, that story gives me so many headaches."

Spike grins. "Not as much as this vodka would." He holds up a large bottle to my vision.

"You got vodka?" I ask with a laugh.

He pours me a glass. "All thanks to Jacob."

Taking the glass, I raise it up in acknowledgment. "To birds."

* * *

Headache alarm. I'm starting to get used to it, seems to come hand in hand with the amnesia. I press my head against Spike's naked chest, trying to lessen the serration of the headache. I didn't drink as much as Spike wanted me to, figured it won't do me good going to work with my head spinning. So, I did that wild seduction thing that seems to turn him on and it worked. We ended up doing it three times in three different locations, bed was the last.

Spike shifts faintly under me. I knew he was awake when I smelt the stench of his cigarette. I feel lazy touches on my upper arm from his cold fingers, so I take hold of his hand, rubbing my thumb on his knuckles, drinking in the white skin. I gaze at his hand for a while, almost drifting off again.

Suddenly, Spike snatches his hand away of mine. I look up at him, my chin resting on his chest. He regards me with shrewd blue eyes. "You're picturing them bandaged, weren't you?"

I smile sheepishly. Spike tips his head back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling like he's asking it why he's bothering with me.

I relax my head back on his chest, rubbing my nose slightly against his nipple. "Do you think I'll ever be successful again? Another respectable job, another huge apartment, another car."

His fingers come to my head, caressing my short hair. "Only if you stop obsessing about those memories."

I kiss his nipple and smile. "You really think that?"

"I know that. Been there, remember? If I kept fixating on getting this chip out, I won't go anywhere."

I close my eyes, pressing my cheek more against his chest. "And where are you now?"

He doesn't answer right away; the increase of stinking smoke in the air tells me he just exhaled. "Home," he says quietly.

I raise my head, a mock touched expression on my face. "Aww."

He gives my face a gentle slap, squirming out from underneath me. "Nothing to do with you. I'm talking about the crypt." He takes a drag, blows in the air, eyes frowning at me. "And you don't live here."

"It's so far from work. And you don't have a bathroom." I roll onto my side and prop my head up on my elbow. "Do you think about the losses?"

He stares into my eyes, noting how serious I am, and then looks down at the cigarette between his fingers. "Sometimes," he whispers. I didn't expect the sincere admission, thought I'd be getting another lecture about moving on and adaptation. I'm relieved and glad he chose to open up to me instead of pretending to be strong; the super alpha thing he's got going on is getting tiresome. I'm starting to dislike it more than the old silent, broody Angel act in the beginning. I like the new side, the unsure one, makes it easier to get along with him and understand him better.

"You?" Spike asks after blowing small puffs of smoke, probably trying to blow smoke rings, but failing. "Still crying about the perfect life?"

I drop my head on the pillow, gazing at the ceiling, arms spread out. I turn my head towards him, a lopsided smile on my lips. "Perfect is so overrated."

Spike smirks, stubbing out his cigarette on the wall, tossing it behind him. He leans down and locks his lips with mine.

I smile through the kiss. Nothing gets better than this.

**The End**


End file.
